To My Legs

Tonight I look at you
as I never did before
and think of the old horses
the little I was told about them

out of gratitude
comes a recognition
of being too late
standing on the empty
platform in the wrong
clothes or none at all
whatever may have been said
before during or afterward

all at once the old horses
were nowhere to be seen
after they had brought us
so far without a word
and I know what happens
to them however
I may pretend not to
a last step into the air
and out of gratitude comes
a picture of nothing

the speechless
obedient journeys
the running in battles
as the fields fall silent
the full veins of youth
gone without a sound