Horse Came Then…a morning poem

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood’s dark abysses…

-Rilke

 

Horse came then

three times, two nights

and a morning

 

First, running in a shadowed field

under the crescent moon

where my heart flew

 

Again, on bright painted wings

in a small mythic gift

from the hand of a friend

And then, tucked inside

the words of an unknown poet

with guidance for the soul.

Make of this what you will,

She whispered,

but listen, find

what the moon knows,

see what shape

stomps its restless

feet in the closure

of your heart

“and if it be a horse,

open the gate

and let it run”*

 

 

-wrensong

 

*from The Soul, by Kim Moore

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About wrensong

I am a poet who collects stones. I am a wanderer of creek beds and forests, canyons and high desert who, coming home, sometimes finds words to tell the story. I am a companion with others in the search for Deep, Wild Soul. I shape containers in time and space for others to come together to write, to tell their stories, to hold each other in the telling. I am a grandmother and the companion of a cat named Alaya. I often travel out into open country with a man who calls himself Dunewalker who has hung his hammock in my heart.
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