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.

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