Racehorse - a poem
Your eyes are black and wild
Your body is taut and perfect as Roman sculpture
The animal is born to run
You dance in the paddock
Anxious to be the thing you are
Your nostrils flare as if breathing fire
Angel wingbeats twitch your ears
Your veins protrude - your blood pumps so hard
Your body steams, your heat evaporates in the air
Tense and nervous your spirit is in flight
A spring ready to explode into the rhythm of hooves on turf
The earth is your war drum
The pattern of your running feet a mystery until slowed frame by frame
The racehorse is that heart in the moment of fatal collision
The racehorse is that heart when first words are spoken to the one you love
The racehorse is that heart when your first born rests in your arms
You are life in sinew and blood
And you are when you tear the ground and nod the yards
You see them come round the turn and down the final furlong finally the sound catching the vision
We saw you on the plains and felt envy in our souls
We clung to your back to be free
You take the form our hearts would love to be
Equus you have carried man so far
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