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|Wild Ponies at Chincoteague|
By Lisa Sornberger
The sun lays down its body
where light falls from sky.
Wild geese ahead of their cries
leave us below to listen and witness.
A painter walks this beach, almost alone,
filling his pockets with stone and feather,
bits of bone and polished sea glass,
flotsam and treasure.
He gathers light on canvas--
he's come to paint the wild ponies,
the horses that gallop towards him in dream.
Manes and tails, shining and easy,
the brush flies so freely!
Their hearts are their mystery.
Wild ponies are pounding down the beach at Chincoteague--
their hoofbeats sound like your heartbeat
against my body.
Your heart is still a mystery to me.
You shapeshift in and out of my dream.
You lift into flight,
disappear down a beach,
out of sight,
out of reach.
© Copyright 2002, Lisa Sornberger, All Rights Reserved.
© Copyright 1997, 2020, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 02/17/2003