| Art by Marie Bortolotto 2016 
 
 
 
 
Horses at Midnight Without a Moon 
 
Our heart wanders lost in
the dark woods. 
Our dream wrestles in the
castle of doubt. 
But there's music in us.
Hope is pushed down 
but the angel flies up
again taking us with her. 
The summer mornings begin
inch by inch 
while we sleep, and walk
with us later 
as long-legged beauty
through 
the dirty streets. It is
no surprise 
that danger and suffering
surround us. 
What astonishes is the
singing. 
We know the horses are
there in the dark 
meadow because we can
smell them, 
can hear them breathing. 
Our spirit persists like a
man struggling 
through the frozen valley 
who suddenly smells
flowers 
and realizes the snow is
melting 
out of sight on top of the
mountain, 
knows that spring has
begun. 
 
 
Jack Gilbert, American Poet 1925 - 2012 |