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 don’t saddle him or touch his long, sad face.
He never bows, never struggles with bridle or reins.
He doesn’t love me, not yet, though for years
I’ve 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 don’t know his mind, but when he’s done, he’s done.
Then he sleeps in the meadow, dreaming of clover and salt.

Steve Klepetar

If you have any thoughts on this poem,  Steve Klepetar would be pleased to hear them.