WILD HORSES

Hooves trammel the stone hillside—
manes tossed upon the sky like a child’s flaming hair.

Sunlight floods bare ground,
scant grass blows free.

Hills know well these massive bodies:
russet—black—silver-streaked.

Wild horse—wind horse—horse of sky!
Seas of earth cannot hold you back.

You are the moving horizon—mind’s marked immensity.
A cool wind streaming through the last threshold.

whole galaxies lay open before you.
Some call you love (passion liberates the least of us).

I call you by your real name: my very self—
primordial vision of what can be.

I pour you into the hollows of my heart.


Published in: RiverSedge, Volume XXIII, Number 2