a midnight blue stallion, captured in fused glass.  White wisps
of mane writhe and twist away from his neck in a tease
of forward movement.  Iridescent fire is his corral: sun-flamed ocher,
umber, sienna.  No bit, no halter impede the thrust of his neck.
I stroke my hand down his cool surface.  Do I sense a quiver?

I dream of moon-shimmered mist, a glint of indigo.  Hooves paw
the ground; he whinnies, come.  White hawk feathers glow
and twirl in my braids as I run to the one who waits.  I curve
my arms around his neck and we ride, seamless, through scattered
pearls of light.