The Wind Combs My Hair

 

 

I‘m a wild appaloosa,

a ton of writhing steel

sheathed in hot muscle;

I smell the stink of men

with ropes flying; trying

to lasso my neck; I hide

in a twister of dust.

 

I'm white dappled fury,

snorting like a train,

pounding past sagebrush,

where telegraph wires

scrawl across sky.

 

Storms hide in my eyes;

tectonic plates move

when I stomp and slice air

with my hooves; no saddle

touches my flesh;

no lariat claims my neck;

I am thunder in the wind.

 

 

© 2012 Rosalyn H. Marhatta