In the lost ends of a long field,
the creature stood –
brushed in a bristling mahogany coat,
dusted with honey and java.
I could only stand there swaying
imperceptibly on the dying grass.
From his flanks, a slight swirl of steam
lifted into the winter air and
without a note, disappeared
into the heavy sky.
How inconsequential his state,
to the legacy of his stance.
How endless was the moment
that only 20 paces
separated us in time and species.
Yet connected, not understood.
How inconsequential my stance…
Was he dreaming what I was?
Still as the blades of bear grass
broken through the frost, he stood,
and I followed the contours across steep pasterns,
climbing strong foreleg,
rolling over the withers
and then across to the only sign of life
flickering in the fields that dusk.
No stone could have rippled the quiet waters of his eyes –
honey-pnd long lashes,
These almond pools with a shiny sliver on black,
A gold shard that reflected off a terracotta sun,
somewhere melting over the bush country of another continent.
If it were not for the fury in my heart,
I’d not have heard a pin drop into the Indian Ocean
We stared endless not in time, but in depth.
And it was so quiet, I could hear the hissing of the grasses,
He could hear the rushing of my own blood.
But Neither of us stirred as we moved,
the missing words from this monumental sentence
transcended the message.
It was a moments on it’s way out
From the time it arrived.
And no sooner had I reached out my hand,
Then he was gone.
With only that familiar cadence –
Thundering across the pasture.
And my mortality and limitations
Lunged upon me
Ripping the subconscious from the bone
Gnawing on the flesh of simply being human.
When talking of the spirit of a man and horse
We are all prey animals.
And so we run.
