Barefoot
Sand hot, searing white,
like my skin,
which had been kissed by a fierce
fiery sun
that mistook me for his lover.
It was my choice,
not to join the herd,
to chase a quarter mile
at crescendo speeds.
I already knew what it was like
to race the wind,
to pretend I was lightning,
no more than a fleeting flash,
bliss - and then, silence.
I chose the shamanic path,
removing the leather,
letting go of the binding ties,
and the reins,
setting them beside conch shells
that sheltered my keys
and my tether.
Fists full of mane,
thighs wrapped around
the wild grace of Tarpan Luck,
in velvet waters,
sparkling turquoise,
*******, unbridled
soul claiming Amphitrite,
harnessing currents, breaking tides,
even the sun bowed low,
as I gilded the foam.
I echoed the gulls
far outstretched wings,
singing to the envious saline atmosphere,
I. am. free.