Azteca,
as noble as his name.
Flaxen locks tumble down his classic face,
splash hard on a shoulder sloped so fine.
Slick copper flanks slide
into flashing legs,
stop at tendons, carved taut and dry.
Azteca, as noble as his name,
steps out over rocky paths,
picking through obstacles,
white legs dashing
a four beat gait.
Azteca, as noble as his name,
carries me up rocky roads,
past people, cars and town.
far out beyond it all, to lands
where panthers roam.
Azteca, swinging his Spanish gait,
tireless legs slashing,
carries me through the
brilliance of it.
Moves me past
mountains, lakes and eagles
and
into another realm.
Suddenly-- we are higher than the eagles,
flying past the sun.
the heart of me is pierced by it,
the awful, roaring beauty
of sky and rocks and sun.
Of my horse and I alone in it,
a solitude of joy and pain.
My heart aches with what I see
above, below, around me:
nothing but exquisite space.
and streaming through that vapor,
God's true face.
The bliss of being part of it rocks me,
sweeps me wide.
Tears burst forth so sweetly
as my soul shouts out its cry--
"Thank you, Lord, for making me,
for making this good horse.
Thank you for this moment,
your gift of grace to me."
These words of thanks
raise me high again,
'til the mind's distinction
'tween world and horse and I
loses fascination,
lets go its deathly hold.
In a flash, all fades out--
no horse, no rider, no mountain,
neither sky nor sun.
Naught but God's creation--
horse, mount and I are one.
|
