He Walks the Turning Sky
The horizon opens
when he steps toward it.
No sound—
only the long breath
of red and indigo
unraveling behind him.
His hair becomes wind.
His cloak becomes memory.
He does not hurry.
Old light moves with him.
glowing from the place
where courage lives quietly.
The sky bends.
not in fear,
but in recognition—
It has seen this spirit
rise before.
And still,
He walks.
Carrying dusk,
carrying dawn,
carrying all those
who once walked with him
into being.
He Walks the Turning Sky
The horizon opens
when he steps toward it.
No sound—
only the long breath
of red and indigo
unraveling behind him.
His hair becomes wind.
His cloak becomes memory.
He does not hurry.
Old light moves with him.
glowing from the place
where courage lives quietly.
The sky bends.
not in fear,
but in recognition—
It has seen this spirit
rise before.
And still,
He walks.
Carrying dusk,
carrying dawn,
carrying all those
who once walked with him
into being.
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