Quick, Before the Gate Closes

The eye wide open.
The look of surprise.
The wondering.

What’s out there?

Do horses
      cogitate
      marinate
      propagate
            their own direction?

Can the beast
break his own chains,
having known only the reins
to guide him?

Sired by mustang
wild
so many moons ago.

Blood remembers.

The wanting.
The fear.
The freedom.

Ah,
The hopeful glint.