The Ridge Of Empty Trees Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If you drive into the fire you will see how the
Fire works, how the deer and the bear run over even the finest
Of maidens-
How the tourists stop to listen and count the antlers
Running alongside the road,
Until even they are consumed: the sun is a muted thing,
A king twisted in his throne, and gagged by a witch who is cackling
As she burns all of the pretty horses of a heedless knight:
There he is on the ridge of empty trees with my mother:
All silver as they feed the horses,
The flames surrounding him- even the reintroduced wolves
Have run away.
What can I say to him that he will not laugh at? What can I promise
Him that he will not disbelieve?