In My Body
Tangled in my body is a horse with a mane of steel.
His hooves are black, his coat shines
like moonlight on a quiet bay. He rides
with me everywhere, tearing up the ground.
He leaps from cliff to cliff, gallops in the fields.
We are quiet together.
I never call him by name or whistle
to send him crashing through the brush.
I donít saddle him or touch his long, sad face.
He never bows, never struggles with bridle or reins.
He doesnít love me, not yet, though for years
Iíve brought him oats and hay.
He carries me for hours, if the mood takes him,
to secret places, springs that bubble up through rocks,
or ice caves and ponds hidden by pine and ash.
I donít know his mind, but when heís done, heís done.
Then he sleeps in the meadow, dreaming of clover and salt.
If you have any thoughts on this poem, Steve Klepetar would be
pleased to hear them.