MUSED Literary Magazine.
Poetry

The Horse Latitudes

Charles A. Gramlich

Hearing the wind
as horses racing through the tree tops.
Their hooves shed leaves.

For a moment,
I think of catching an air stallion,
of lying in wait up an old oak
with a dream lariat.

He would be as blue as sky,
with a mane like a contrail,
and, oh, he would be fast.
Wed make thunder together.

But maybe hes better
running distances with his herd.
Humans tame so much.
Let the wild wind be