The rider is either ahead or behind me,
on this tree-lined, earthen avenue
that stretches to the horizon.
The hooves of our horses,
pounding, pounding.
We draw abreast,
he hands me the baton,
a rolled scroll.
I ride and read,
his images go into and through me.
Another rider appears.
We draw abreast. I pass on the scroll.
The words and images remain.
I keep riding.
I hear more hooves approaching,
fading away,
by my side.