Poised But Ready

I sit staring like still water,

at my surroundings,

and my heart is anything but stagnant.

Instead, it beats hummingbird-ish,

but in a calmer, pratincole-ish tamber,

old-world-like, and not long for this place.

In my soul, it is early morning and,

deep within, I am a quarter-horse at dawn.

White bellows of nasal clouds,

like steam off an engine,

in bursts and aggressive puffs,

that signal my poised but eager state,

ready to throw clods of turf,

as I sprint,

bridled,

but the bit no more than a memory,

a minor distraction,

less of a barrier than this breeze,

this affirming whisper of a gale,

that won’t hinder me,

as my direction is ahead,

beyond the palisades of past.

Onward.