I passed the curry brush over the tough flanks,
rich brown like the forest floor
and bulging with muscles like roots beneath.
They pawed the ground as if to assert that in a breath
they could push out the stable's mouth.
I looked with envy into the big, impatient pools of eyes,
followed the nose to the nostrils sucking more breath
than all my blood would hold.
Others mounted and trotted easily into the paddock.
I watched them pick up speed,
the meadow grasses parting all around them -
to travel the way they did over the fields
on four steel shoes, kicking up the earth and flowers indifferntly.
I remained, brushing the course hair to a shine,
feeling the power of muscles, bows strung tightly,
a ready symphony of motion wound beneath the skin,
ready for flight. If you can trust – but I preferred
to listen to the soft breaths misting up the morning air.