Let me fall
Deeply into the heart
Of the wanderer,
Under the dappled skin
Into the belly of the thing
Heavy and warm;
The hermit and the outcast
Is met in me
By the stomp of a hoof,
The shifting
Of weight
As he steadies himself;
I look down at my feet
Aware of toes and heels
Colliding with the ground.
I met an Appaloosa the other week. Pale, dappled and distant among a herd of sleek blacks and solid chestnuts. His name is Cherokee.
‘Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us.’
- Virginia Woolf, Jacob's Room
