I ride the silver stallion
Through marshes and wetlands.
Spurring him on, faster, and faster
His gallop parts the grass, the egrets fly.

Above, the sky turns menacingly dark.
Rain falls like stones from a slingshot
Pelting me and my silver stallion.
He moves slower, the egrets disappear.

Into the mist we ride
The morning sun obscured.
A hawk circles above us
A town passes by the wayside.

The rain drops glisten off his sides.
I feel his movement beneath me
As we enter the dark tunnel.
Only his hoof beats can be heard.

We come out into the light
Then submerge into Penn Station,
The drab canyons of Manhattan above.
Another wet Friday’s commute begun.

I slip my novel into my bag,
Stand up and move slowly with the crowd.
My steed, the silver train,
Now a fond fantasy, left behind.


© Leona Seufert


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