The Horse in the Fog
My prayer calls out a horse. With leaping stride,
Mist-cloaked and mute, she gallops to my side;
With flame-launch lungs and rolling, wave-crest eyes,
Her sculpted face turns like a rose toward mine.
And like a fool I stare the highway down,
Outrunning, so I think, the hurting song.
Her mane a flag, the prayer-horse races on,
While I cry out, How long, oh Lord? How long?
But when deep thunders turn my legs to stone
The mare's head looms, her gaze like petals blown.
From blinding fog a muzzle patient bears
The answer to my unforbearing prayers.
My prayer calls out a horse. With leaping stride,
Mist-cloaked and mute, she gallops to my side;
With flame-launch lungs and rolling, wave-crest eyes,
Her sculpted face turns like a rose toward mine.
And like a fool I stare the highway down,
Outrunning, so I think, the hurting song.
Her mane a flag, the prayer-horse races on,
While I cry out, How long, oh Lord? How long?
But when deep thunders turn my legs to stone
The mare's head looms, her gaze like petals blown.
From blinding fog a muzzle patient bears
The answer to my unforbearing prayers.