Winged Steeds of Mist

Out in the vales of freedom
of rippled hills and plunging canyons
there is nought but wind
to carve through the wild horse

Light mane, nostrils flared
veins like sacred rivers;
heart with a hawk spirit
flight strikes music frombright pinioned hooves

Coats of shimmering autumn,
pied shadows, blinding snow
Time and mist have scribbled fear
into the sinews

Winged at the first breaking sounds
of intrusion, fear of capture
awakens the scream,
far older than the sound it emits
escape,escape
pound,strive wild horse
snort fire and aquire
the secret of flying

© Suzanne Delaney