A Horse With A Broken Rib
Poem By Thomas Bates
in the Holy
divine shower before
a flood, a deserted saint
of the plain neared; she
offered red and amber flowers and
orange, lovely shows of the disappearing sun-
smiling behind a basking lazy
black night sheet
with April stars.
shinning, she came to me,
aglow with mad vibrant energy
like slivers of a silver observable sphere,
on the wing
and i came out
no hesitation, just the yearning of a man in waiting.
it takes a while, yes (to leave)
but when I am free again,
in a vision - or lost in dreams easily forgotten -
I'm inclined to stay free, and to remember what I have seen.
the holy eyes of a dream lingers in my memory: two
burning into the mirror...
and I will recall the constant
coming and going of workers and veterinarians
into and out of the horses' stalls and that it
bothered me, and should have.
it had come as an unexpected surprise.
another vision I will fail to ever forget.