heads tossing throats pulsing with sweat
bridles glinting a streak of sun black grey
pied chestnut hooves thudding clattering
a lurch quick shiver of mane
forelock tail cascade of muscle
trembled nose trembled lip
and the hot breath the wild almond eyes—
For you, says the king.
All for you.
* * *
This fairly new poem has had numerous titles. For a long time I simply called it "The Gift," but that didn't make the allusive context clear at all. I'm not satisfied with this version, but at least you have a better chance of comprehending the reference.
At some point in April, the CavanKerry Press blog will be reprinting the poem as part of its Poetry Month celebration. Today I thought I'd share it with you. I wish I could give you eight horses instead.