Looking Off

The horse looked off
collecting distance in his spirit
yellows and gold’s lightly pressed
beneath a dry summer’s breath.
His mane brushed west
flipped like black flames,
a song of taut drum, determined
to tell mountains, rocks,
of dreams that rise in smoke
over warm parted pelt.
His rider reins-way freedom
images history, black and white
photographs, on the library wall
stories sweated and snapped.
Lives sleep under hammer and nail,
pound to the cities birth.
Thunder and the scent of first raindrops
perfume reality, poof tiny craters in the dust.
Struggles leave fittest to follow
the narrow path rising from
yesterday's dream to come alive,
and find…
today’s wish for freedom
reflected in yellows and gold’s
in a horses eyes.