Horse – Sheila Templeton
Set free from grained granite to nuzzle
roughness of ancient rock into a soft
cheek resting on his own long spine,
in that warm hollow where man would
throw a saddle. He curves around
his heart space, the same space
I long for, to be held, absorbed
into grey granite beating. Feel lungs
expanding from stone, breathing
his breath, he breathing mine.
There can be no standing back,
no distancing myself to take in
his beauty. For I have always been
with him, running the Great Plains,
resting in the high holy places
of our earth, drawn for all time
on the soot and ochre walls
of the caves of Lascaux. Remembering
exploded stars. Remembering
everything.