The Horse and the Poet

“The horse is awkward
as it tries to tear itself from the gripping
mud. Spit slings the air, and grace
turns to the ease of slipping.”

The poet relayed this
tale, told me it represented
humanity. He also said
that the artist pierces
the dirt of reality, receives
music from the noise
and chips the impenetrable
block to grab its beauty.
And so the poet tried to pull
the horse from its mud:

“I watch its fading
into the muck—there is the eye that defines
it. Hours fall, I finally head to my room
and try to pull the horse. But the horse’s eye
is only silence. I see it—but no words, except
for the mud and the greatness of its hand.”

Thankfully, Joseph Harker of Naming Constellations helped me refine my focus for this poem when he critiqued the original version a while back. He’s one of the few poets on WordPress that I would recommend.

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