The waning moon lent its diffident light
After the incandescent bulbs had languished.
Couples I had escorted to rubberneck
At daytime now bear each other’s weight.
There I was, enjoying the walk without
Carrying my cross, my rage, my carriage.
Courage spoke susurrous words of motivation
To the equine ear but my attempts
To control the Pryer reflex were won
Over by the sounds of the thoroughfare.
My every step coaxed the cobblestones
To utter “words that are like gold.”
Bold. Elegant. Auspicious. Untamed. Trustful.
Invincible. Free. Understanding. Lovely.
My hooves gripped on them without force;
I wasn’t chasing pavements.
Losing Grip 