Hard hands grip saddleback of smooth leather,
cold against the bitterness of wind and ice, which
sink clandestine incisions deep into the face
into the mind.
Biflected brim drops shadow over stonewalled irises
under light of unobstructed lunar reflection;
reverberating its essence, its energy
off the aged, wind-hardened snow
back into shrouded retinae
of his eroded soul.
Hooves cluff at dry frozen groundcover,
their heaved breath escapes into cold silence.
Light from window fades through clear distance
as white smoke drifts sideways from angled rooftop.
"Yah! Yah!"
Windblown trail is submerged,
the gallup of abandon surges forth.
the pressure and energy of the upcoming trip "reverberating" back into the speaker's tired soul... the clear but distant signs of the goal ("white smoke drifts sideways").... the solitude of man, the bond of man and horse amongst that solitude... this piece oozes uncertainty, adventure, determination. i SEE myself as that speaker, trudging through cold and hardship to get somewhere. truly one of your best poetry pieces yet. glad you're still finding time for the short stuff while the novel is in progress. write on, JR
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