Tuesday, June 30, 2009

450. DESCRIPTION

DESCRIPTION:
(Strictly Mendicant)

He was riding his horse across
the plain and thinking perhaps of
the wind. In a stately cadence of pomp,
something akin to pride itself, a majesty
performed in his place : one thing past
another, it wasn't so much as motion.
And just at that moment I saw, stretched
across the sky, the swiftly steady winging
of a hawk, making its way across that selfsame
sky the horse and rider shared. Of this to make
then, what was I? Two distinct forms in a
somehow steady race : horse and rider as one,
with the hawk its own arc to trace.

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