White horses run through
the field of silence,
wind measures their grace,
sky covers their eyes,
with hazy mist,
so they discover
the force in their legs,
the beauty in their moves,
the infinte presence,
in their marble veins.

lighter and lighter
in dust
joining the floating clouds
neither white,
nor horse,
just fugitive souls,
returning home.
© Serena Devi, August 2011