Walking Past Horses
mustangs mutter at my shadow.
a neuron from their ancestors
mistook me for a tiger;
but quickly i become
just another dull patch,
like the cars blurring by.
maybe it lasted for a second,
the clarity of equine insight.
when i look back the beasts
are wooden again,
shaggy brown shrubs
planted in dust.
most of their life festers
within a 10 x 10 fate.
none seem to remember
hooves as free as wings—
millennia have passed
since chisels likened horses
to seraphim.
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