They came through mist,
horses solid as trees
but warm and breathing,
with the wide world
in their broad brown eyes.
They were wise,
watched me sitting drinking wine alone,
then dipped their heads and drank
from a bubbling water-tap;
daintily avoiding stone-steps,
along the lane and out of sight,
the silent trees.
There was something in that moment.
A look, centuries-long, in their eyes.
You know, I think those horses knew
how life began.
Posted by keith armstrong at 8:09 pm