Przewalski

[vaalski]

 Heavy little warhorse, standing foursquare
on rocky ground, impassive
as the stone around her, head like an anvil, legs
like young trees. She
has never been a beast of burden, never known
the hand upon the rein. Shay. Buff-colored
as the sand beneath her hooves. She is
the wind that strikes your face, the storms
that break along the steppes---as ruthless
and innocent as every wild thing.

Comments

[persephone-blue.livejournal.com]

The poems you write for horses are so sweet! I've never had much experience with them, but when I read poems like this, it feels like I do.

I think you may have added an extra "i" to your "like" in line four.