Poetry Pick

Billy Green's Horse

by John B. Lee
Ontario, Canada

What does it matter that Billy Green ran ...
the artist has sculpted him horsed.
And so
though history's hero
went racing shank's mare at the last
through the bush to the house on the hill
and so
though legend has it
that Levi lent Tip to the lad
as with hands
to withers of clay
Billy was mud-smoothed to his mount
under thumbs throbbing the mane
past Albion Mills
up the brow of the rock
to the camp on the Heights
above the blue bay.
But what does it grieve us
to think in the lag of the dark
he was lifted
by thunder or caught
like black cloth on a thorn
if we shrink to our facts
as with time
we are lied to
we're like hands to the hearts of the cold.

(from Suddenly Breathless, a work in progress)


 
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