Lacerations

Gathering in my courage,
I turned the horse around, easing into
The geometry of poetry,
The mist cooling in afternoon sun,
The yellow rays swirling through in whiteness,
An intense longing pressuring my lungs.

Bits of vegetation whirled
Through orange, my nostrils filled
With particles of fear.

The sun glimmered through
The dale, and the sound
Of hooves incessantly played,
Like a crescendo from Beethoven.

Flanked by friends I did not know,
I pressed horse-flesh, my
Legs stronger than before,
The wind whipping
Boughs against my face,
The entire tempest circling
like a volcanic doom.