Before the Last Day
Along the creek side
Where the trail descends, before the riffles
Seethe among the great round stones
Gray knucklebones
A brown Arabian
Glowing in the sunlight
Fifteen hands high
The rider stops then slowly nears
As one who steps up to a stranger
Imparting confidential messages –
It is the morning of every day
Before the last day
Requests a stroking of the dark and velvet nostrils
Admiration of the sculpted head
Which human masterwork had never made
Jeweler’s cabochon of eye
No jeweler’s chisel ever cut
The tail and neck combed jet, obsidian
And as the horse is stroked
It breathes and looks
Communion speechless
Pure and plentiful
With sunlight joy
Glance both shy and generous
Now
They canter on to reach the shallow ford
To cross,
The rising and the falling of the hooves
Lifts up two silver wings of water,
Two wings that spread and spread against the shallows
Falling in a wordless benediction
Then they reach the shore and mount the rise
Reins relaxed and slackened
Strong neck, the soft and velvet mouth
Inclining towards the grass it crops –
The rider sits and watches
From across the stream
Having made the sign
Pavel
April 26, 2011
