Windy Full Moon

Poem on walking with a horse

There is exhilaration and deep-seated fear

in walking beside this embodiment of all fire and spirit,

who prances like a young stallion,

not feeling his twelve years of gelded, 

restrained, trained existence.

He floats beside me -

the line a living, electrical thing between us - 

the only thing keeping us connected and

apart at the same time.

Do I hold close, near his head, and risk

being pulled off my feet?

Or do I pay out the line and risk

being dragged away in his quest to ride the air?

I alternate with the look in his eye.

Then, in the midst of all his movement,

He stills all muscles and stands, vibrating with tension.

His head so high above me, surely he is eye-to-eye with stars - 

And there, I can see them shining in the deep, dark pools of his eyes.

The wind takes his mane and shakes it furiously, 

pulls long, dragging fingers through the strands, 

holds it out and through his pin-pricked ears and shows the world

what Beauty truly is.

On this full-moon windy night he makes it clear:

I am merely the messenger of his magnificence.