Now as eventide approaches
old and new worlds collide and merge -

night and day
present and past

here stand wood and tin, weathered and worn
with aged hues born from those passed on
the harvest returns and fills its belly

here idle metal, once so valued and employed
rests well - its hour come and gone

nearby equus is housed in two mighty forms
muscled and tall
rich brown and bay both
standing, watching, grazing
a pasture reward for forgotten labors

innumerable leaves stretch beyond the horizon
displaying an array of as yet unknown and unnamed shadings
colors glorious all

a black puff of a beast
(ancient one from the east)
explores, leads, follows, and joins happily
the young men
who live briefly the ancient harvest ritual
while the sun descends

yet stands by a withered tree nearly bereft of life

(was it not such a tree of sorrow upon which Jesus hung?)

reaching upward with goblin-fingered branches
to call all such creatures to the earth but for a night

soon, soon

times again will morning witness their demise
and the Christed will rise and reside - ever alive