Making The Centaur
       

It seemed the horse arrived with the wind,
and the white flash of his eyes suggested

thoughts that were three#151;fourths fear,
the tingle in his nerves racing toward injury.

In a sudden kick and burst through the fields
he was chased by earth's symbols,

all beauty turned hostile.
A spiral in the wild sky noosed him,

terror cinching him up hoof to head,
and the clouds appeared, after, always arranged by pain.

His will now tangled fiercely with yours,
it rains all day on the tin roof,

foam smeared over his flanks,
his mental heat phantoming.

All day his voice twisting in the air.
Then, toward night, there is the break:

the deep restraint you recognize in the rope,
some strength the horse keeps in darkness.

A new creature rises up between you.

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Copyright © 2018 Jennifer Moss All rights reserved
from A Goat From a Distance
Dream Horse Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission