Cut Time Burn
The pinto, her mane a flourish of mahogany,
prances along the fence line like a tethered gypsy.
Hooves beat the air in cut time, a heartbeat away
from the road that flares toward the horizon then melts
into cedars and sunlight. Shift, sway. She whirls
around, etching into the earth again and again a line
as deep as her yearning. To or from doesn’t matter.
Just shake that insistent staccato. Fa-da-da-
dum, fa-da-da-dum. Is it Andalusian? A tune drenched
in minor with edgy guitars that tick out an easy
rhythm almost concealing the fire inside the notes. Music
that can make you dance when you’re on your knees.
©Lucy Aron, Red Wheelbarrow, 2005
