Saturday, August 14, 2021

Four Horses by David Whyte


Blind Faith (M. A. Reilly, West Milford NJ)


          —By David Whyte

On Thursday 

the farmer

put four horses

into the cut hay-field

next to the house.

Since then the days

have been filled 

with the

sheen of their

brown hides

racing the fence edge.

Since then I see

their curved necks

through the 

kitchen window;

sailing like swans

past the pale field.

Each morning

their hooves fill my

open door

with an urgency

for something

just beyond my grasp

and I spend my whole

day in an idiot joy,

writing, gardening,

and looking

for it

under every 

upturned stone.

I find myself

wanting to do



wide ranging

slightly stupid 

and lovely.

I find myself

wanting to walk up

and thank

the farmer for those

dark brown horses 

and see him stand

back laughing in his

grizzled and

denim wonder 

at my


And I find myself

wanting to ride

into the last hours

of this summer,

bareback and

happy as the hooves

of the days

that drum toward me.

I hear the whinny of

their fenced 

and abandoned


and feel happy


in the field

of my own making,

writing non-stop,

my head held high

ranging the boundaries

of a birthright


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