Quarter Horse

Age has made me gentler
Quieter
Reflective.

I have accepted the bit

In my mouth
And bridle
About my face.

I continue to run
Like a quarter horse turned loose
To places of rolling beauty
Sunsets of cherries and plums
Gilded upon burnished brass.

I stand and stare
Wishing I had one
With whom
To marvel at the few seconds
Of splendid light.

But I content myself.

There are many who see
But cannot comprehend the joy
Contained in the few moments
It would require
To inhale deeply
Exhale slowly
Until the light turns to lead
Until the shadows gather
And it is time again
To return home...

And contemplate such majesty

Compressed within a sliver of time.