Horses tore loose when the child was born: bay, blue,
chestnut, cantering mighty joy into trees
and into earth below grasses. Cadence filled infancy's
ears forever with the lure of thunder's song of passage.
Hoof beats beckoned, marking and pointing
good fortune's direction. The child wove halters
of dried grasses, forged metal bits, fashioned snares
for wild horses grazing imaginary fields,
until she heard freedom had ripped loose,
untrammeled like the hearts of horses.
She felt within herself how horses hear the rhythm
of the next reaching stride, before it strikes ground,
a turning point over which to fling oneself soaring,
a spirit released by sound, out-reaching the stars.
ã
Crane 2003
