The Rain Horse

Brightly, through aged valleys, He strides, half-stepping into the rain— That pore where the wild spills, Hooves struck a cadence of fervent yests, Yet drift on gentle hills. His coat glistens, unleashing memories Lit by fire, by dancing semaphores That spring from togetherness And course through the sphere of flesh Struck from air. I count myself among those echoes— A marked shadow, drawing breath, Each trot, each gallop called back, takes, This rain wraps us fully, blends past wishes Where life and praise unite, And glide on through narrow trails.

• Ted Hughes