High Horse

Up there

on your high horse

you grope in the darkness.

Blind to

azure

and

the midday sun.

Blind to

delicate wild flowers

braided in my hair.

Blind to

the sticky sweat of toil

and the gallop of my heart.

Blind to

 fractured limbs

and murmurs of pain.

You only know

the ache of your saddle

the blisters on your hands

the tempest on your horizon

an unfathomable loss.

Dismount

and

discover

it

and

we

are all the same.

Colleen Sohn

 

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