Horses sleep standing.
In the dog-throat dark predawn they smell, hear, sense me.
Primal fear un-blurs their shapes from the black and they run,
oh, how they run.
Hooves thunder, lightning screams tear the limpid air
With no sight to steer they circle,
and circle.
Me, gyroscope-frozen in their gimble
Them, centrifuge-driven in their heart-bursting dread,
their heart-bursting dread.
Morning whispers her ease, sings the black to grey
Five-sensed again our pulses drop; there’s no danger here, she says
there’s really, truly, no danger here.
KJB
