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.