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Everything is all path-centered and soul-guarded
until I fall off the high horse I rode in on.
Then it’s rocky landings and steep precipices,
mill wheels of slate and quartz grinding in flowing streams.
Falling lasts, a slow motion beating by masses
indifferent to causes. What scared the horse was
need to forgive before giving, isolation
from friends and cats. And, yet, fear brings no death.
There are second chances and shorter horses and
sometimes a friend or cat willing to come along.
(Written 11 May 2023)
My blog poems are rough drafts.
Please respect my copyright.
© 2023 Susan L. Chast
This is wonderful, the high horse, the fall, the shorter horses, friend and cat willing to come along. I love it.
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