Poetry(March 2003)

Imagine the way those horses came
plunging and foaming like a race
undammed, and how the hot hooves crashing
scoured down the hills of Thrace.

Fed by an unheard“of hunger”
roaring white“eyed from their source,
they ate the mountain like a river
ravening out a watercourse.

He made them stand, slow“eyed and tame,
and, two by two, across the plains,
he led in glory back to Greece
those horses never meant for reins.

Deborah Warren