From a photo by Heather Abounader (posted to Wiki Commons)

From a photo by Heather Abounader (via Wikipedia Commons)


I have watched you,
On a cold February morning
In the quiet barn,
Begin to sculpt a star.

In the round pen,
Breath steaming in the still air,
Attached to you with slack lunge,
Is a frightened chestnut colt.

Next year, he will burst through the in-gate
Wearing his fine harness like royal robes,
Head high, neck arched, chiseled body
Flashing gleaming angles and planes on his slick coat,
Mane and tail bold banners, announcing that he has come
To demand his due, and take the blue.

But now, undeveloped muscles tense,
Ears active as semaphore flags,
He listens to your voice,
Hardly louder than his own breathing

But strong enough to hold him
As he flickers,
Thinking he has a choice,
Between bolting and believing.


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