Go to the place that knows you, as an artist returns to their medium.
Take off for the fields—
let your skirts gather the wildflowers
where the circle of the sun meets the earth
and canters ’round its pasture.
Find that great horse of light
steadied beneath her hand,
a master painter’s impressionist
dewy breath into the morning’s fog.
She lifted her hand again,
a conjurer of ink and paint,
and the rays became a white stallion
with a mane of gold vermillion.
He appears when the light sears
through the cloud, thoroughbred and proud,
he gallops with the wind,he stands at last light upon the field.