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as sure as the
moss binder in
my mud chimney,
I saw him - The Stallion
of Legend Airs!

the piece of sky
that I could see was
lavender, my horse lit
fire to the trail, limbs tearing
away, a rotten tree trunk put us
to a temporary stop, "Widow Makers,"
old-timers called such debris,

the woman who
would later shepherd
my growth and contribute
to my fame, sat upon a limestone
ledge high above, next to an abandoned
eagle's nest, flying a paper kite with the
emblem of The Stallion of Legend Airs,
a hundred feet of lariat twine, she roped
the wind,

I watched her
tame The Stallion
of Legend Airs, his
lifeblood in his flanks 
as he bucked and kicked
ether, his tail and mane scattered,
all hell broke loose, in my mind she
was a 1960s horsetamer's daughter,
my pussy afire, "rub me in paraffin to
get me to slide!" just then, The Stallion
of Legend Airs crashed upon the "Widow
Makers" and I tied the lariat twine around
the debris and onto the martingale, mounted
my horse, took a pull off the whiskey bottle with
fire to pull the reins back, clearing a rotten tree trunk,
a designated landmark to my turning point,

the uninterrupted 
panorma of earth and
sky surround the hissing
tattletale wind of those who
try to bring the firebrand down
and breach the solitude,

as sure as
the moss binder
in my mud chimney,
we f***ed in the roughhewn
buggy barn, transforming dead
wood into living art - limbs, burls,
trunks, stumps, and hot crotches - there
exists a tune here anyway, because we are
spiritually attuned...

I...


Copyright 10/14/2007 Ms. Sage Sweetwater