On a Winter’s Night

By John Grey

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Horsemen gather at the bridge. 
The night is moonless, 
brittle with January chill. 
The rushing river below 
sounds as if it’s running away 
from something. 

Wind, armed with ice splinters, 
blows the mad current’s spray  
back in its face. 

A harpy cackles  
from a nearby oak branch. 
The sky’s a moving pattern  
of crisscrossing shapes. 

A dire wolf growls 
from its thicket-covered 
human blind. 
The unseen howls. 
A solitary monk chants.  

You come accidentally  
upon the scene, 
are lost, in need of help. 

But nothing here lends itself 
to giving good directions.