A rolling stream carves into glowing   hills

Round beads of dew tremble

On tender sprigs of grass

A gentle breeze sweeps over the earth

Dusting off the countryside

The great lungs of a heaving world

A newborn sun mounts the rise

Its rays caress the cool hills

Heralding a fresh beginning

He comes like wildfire, rending

The turf with flint-hard hooves

Soaring over the earth’s emerald carpet

The staccato rhythm of his strides

Are as unchanged as day and night

As certain as life and death

He tops a hill, mane flaring

The sun illuminates his unnatural symmetry

The light fills him, fuels him

Headlong he runs against the wind

Splitting it apart in his furious dash

It grabs his tail, raking it back

Tender grass is crushed beneath

Pounding, churning, ceaseless hooves

Clods of turf fly in his wake

Then he is still

The sun climbs higher in the sky

The earth sucks in its breath

They come like a rainstorm

A tangle of leather, hide, men

Ripping across the plain

Ropes slice through thick air

Quirts snap against horsehair

Saddles creak; bits jangle

He dodges, kicks out

Whirls away in a furor

Tears into the earth

His hooves grab for purchase

Sorting through loose dirt, spitting rocks

He finds traction and heaves himself away

They chase, reins flapping

Intent on catching the uncatchable

Taming the untamable

He does not worry, for

His ancestors’ blood

Courses steadily through him

He runs where running is not possible

Climbing rock, scrabbling up

Muscles bunching, releasing

Still they follow, sawing at their mounts

Lariats ready, shotguns loaded

They lean forward, into the wind

Still he runs, body foaming

Mincing through narrow canyons

Leaping brambly ravines

They drive him onward

Pressing constantly

Refusing to let up

He leads them onward

Pulling them closer

Refusing to give up

The sun continues its arch

Blazing heat pounds them all

Scorching, unrelenting

They have fresh mounts

Well-fed and watered

The finest stock around

He is a wanderer

Eating only when possible

But his blood is hardy

The stony look in his eyes

Begins to fade

Raw fear floods them

His muscles ache

Burning fills his body

His lungs long for air

They come on strong

The horses churning

Pulling on their reserves

He darts through a pass

Hooves scrambling for traction

Neck stretched, ears flat

The sound of their hooves

Reverberates threateningly

The walls close in, the trail narrows

He surges around a corner

The trail falls away

A cold, dark river rushes below him

Yelling, shouting, slapping ropes

They pivot their horses

Avoiding the drop

They positions themselves

Gathering lariats

Shaking out loops

Eyes and ears flicking

He sucks in the tense air

Gathers himself

Muscles trembling

He uncoils himself

Thrusting himself forward

They drop their ropes

Curse in disbelief

Shake their heads, rip off their hats

He hurtles through the air

The sun strikes the chiseled planes of his body

Legs reaching, running, grabbing

His lungs fill, his chest heaves

The river envelops him, holds him

Carries him back to his brethren.