Ioanna Warwick

---

Spirit Horses 

            in memory of Linda Brown

 

 

 

August moon in Vermont ,

I watched mist swiftly rise,

like white horses from a black

forest pond---

 

Rearing in a rush of breath,

impatient for infinity,

they rose straight up, then veered

toward an unseen shore.

 

From stillness to stillness they sped,

spirit horses free of all weight.

Burdened with my life---

ten thousand things, I knew

 

here the road ended:

I couldn't cross the pond.

In the mirror of the night I saw

I too was a ghost, although

 

still flesh, leaf-deep in the now.

But the horses as they disappeared

in silence called to me to come.

And I knew that soon

 

I would lay my head

along my spirit's fluent neck,

hold on to an imagined mane;

let a horse carry me beyond

 

shadow woods and moonlit clouds

to the star-braided mare

on the other side. Yet I stammered:

drop my rags, my chores?

 

Then your voice, Linda,

from the fertile night:

But without

wanting God, is it really life?

  

Copyright (C) Ioanna Warwick, 2006. All rights reserved.