Black Madonna

I see the nervous, black eye fix,
bone cavities encase a thrusting mind...
your ears prick, ready for cantering and galloping.

Hairs on your head, taut like bowstrings
show that you are freaked out and ready to run
and run, onwards from this paddock

and out into open fields, cantering and galloping,
sleek with sweat, until whinnying with satisfied relief,
you are back where you started from

Clop, clop, clopping in light shoes
you finish in your paddock, locked in
for the night.