Missing Peace

Cobblestones are witnesses to this horse of new and old. Separate me from the tyings that tangle the mind, and leave the movement in your hands. This saddler no longer sews for new, young riders. The bare skin is enough to get through— a hide that refuses to sweat and struggle. In the memory that lights up, the horse gave you elevation and recovery from your unripe wisdom. Now it looks for you. The church bells sing the ancient songs of its people. The herds of animals moan in this awakening. The hand of divine gesture points in this direction. The horse bows with a nervous nicker. ¡Ooo! Quieto, ¡Ooo! I am the young child that you lifted from my own desperation. I come again to ride this beloved and faithful steed.