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.