This Wildness Is Me

I see through the last of winter grasses
as the spring green rises,
and I feel them thunder in my chest,
my heart racing, the horses
running through the marsh
and over my head the birds
wheel and cry. In the grasses,
in the wind that rubs my scalp,
I can almost catch her eye.

They run in the sun and the water,
light catching in their manes,
the spray their hooves kick up.
This wildness is me, this light—
and their fierce freedom.
I look for their music.
I look for her in the light.

In the morning, I feel my heart
as the sun grows larger, stronger
on the horizon and the birds
rise from the water in clouds
and the horses amble and snort,
whicker their pleasure,
and the light skims the water’s skin
in pools of yellow and the day is revealed