The Horses
I stand facing east
Alone, quiet, still.
Only one companion --
A proud cactus standing tall.
Together we watch the cold night
Become the hot day.
Dry baked rocks beneath us,
Purple and white sky above us,
With only one cloud to the north.
Then the ground quakes.
Thunder echoes across the flat land --
A loud roar of hooves as
White horses gallop past.
They fly
And never touch the parched ground.
Like wind, like water, like whistles of air;
They hiss and thunder and whinny.
Then they are gone
As suddenly as they came,
And down falls the dust they raised:
A fine mist of rain
That evaporates before it touches
The thirsty dirt.
In the wake of the horses,
The cactus still stands proudly.
A single flower opens:
Purple and white,
Facing the east.