where the wild horses run

as the sky re-
writes its own
geography, dancing
the horizon in
and out of focus,
we
follow the road
to its end, lead
it shyly on
into wet glowing
thunder
underneath
the footfall
of uncorralled
dreams.

though the darkness
that falls
is implacable,
its night twisted
up in borrowed
sheets and a bed
as big as a desert,

there is
dew
on the floor
with the softly
waking dawn,
and angel
trumpets that
whistle forlornly
a prime
for coming
home.

30 thoughts on “where the wild horses run

  1. Healing Walks

    This beach
    The only pristine place I know
    Freshened
    Twice a day since always
    My footfalls
    The only imprints seen
    But deep
    Those tears
    Sliding down the contours
    Of my face
    Another slack tide
    Cleaning and removing
    Painful things
    That no beachcomber
    Would ever want
    To take home
    My only hope
    The periodic wash
    Of illumination
    As the lighthouse
    Seeks
    Those in need

  2. “uncoralled dreams” What a wonderful splash of optimism. Reminds of RFK “Some men see things as they are and ask why. I dream things that never were and ask why not.

  3. “there is
    dew
    on the floor
    with the softly
    waking dawn,
    and angel
    trumpets that
    whistle forlornly
    a prime
    for coming
    home.”

    i love your use of the word “prime” here – a holy call appropriate for an otherworldly place. you titled it “where the wild horses run.” were you in chincoteague/assateague, then?

  4. indeed, this is amazing. beautiful imagery… captures the glowing and ever changing wonders of the world. great! btw, thanks for stopping by my blog… also, the picture on my blog is by my fav photographer: Phyllis Galembo!

  5. Siubhan… enjoyed everything about this beautifully crafted piece… each word balanced and right. Progression is so well done.. as though taking me by the hand through the elements.. great visuals..wistful mood. Love it.

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