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Knight
Court had forgotten where
it had sent Knight. Squire had quit
to settle down in some village. So
here then was Knight, alone,
propped up against a deciduous tree,
his armor bleeding rust, and more
rain coming. Sitting in his own
waste and pain, Knight peered
blearily through the visor
at sodden, green Druidic hills.
Cold rain ripped remaining leaves
from branches. The horse stood
a good way off, dry and napping
under an evergreen, one rear foot
cocked like a catapult. Knight
felt the jail of armor locking.