Horses thunder across lands, behind eyelids.

romanticizing what could be

in that place

I’d call home.

It’s perfect there, tucked away

in thoughtful corners.

An escape in the night,

scarce moments at a traffic light.

Strictly adamant; red hues call halt,

time ticks, demanding notice

of every tock, rumbling

beneath my skin.

In that moment the horses come

trampling away cares

in dusty billows,

a small gift.

Tiny traces of hope freshen my soul

each time I accept

and reciprocate spending

time home.

Finalist for PNWA Literary Contest, 2017

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