Time is frozen.
The air is blowing through his thick black mane.
I can't remember anything,
but the stringy muscles stretched tight,
poised to fall off the earth.
We're hovering between time and dreaming,
And we love it.
I am part of him,
my legs feeling the stress his do.
The edge of time is ticking, and I grab his mane,
holding tight.
I mustn't let go,
My mind one with his.
His soft muzzle against my hand,
even if it's not there,
I can feel it.
Velvet treads,
Soft against the packed clouds beneath his hooves.
This will end,
and when it does,
we'll be one again.
His hooves,
smooth like a black piano,
patter on the clouds.
1,2,3 1,2,3
Like a slow waltz at a ball.
Some say that the dancers of heaven
could never rival a horses gait.
A gait some dream-like with simplicity
it could keep even the wildest animal at bay,
for even a fairy could not cotend with the dance of the horse.
I'm low on this neck,
my breath tickling his ear with honeysuckled sweetness.
His eyes are bright with mischief,
and you can see the pain behind those mirrors, of our own hearts.
Suffering and loss,
Is what this horse hath inured,
but he has never ceased.
The dance of the Horse.
