Forward Across

Strange, this eighty-pound little boy
giving direction to a pony
ten times his size,
retired 1st Cavalry.
Does the animal protest?
Not even--
Sure, he's conscious of self-preservation
like any living creature,
gingerly testing the loose rocks
as he navigates the steep gully.

And as I lean back against him
sure as hell not to fall forward into the muddy water,
I push him forward
and he goes on and rights himself.
Would he want to cross into the creek
without me to egg him on?
He doesn't care--
Maybe, maybe not--
But he knows the trail,
Taken it a thousand times,
Seen the Red River rise and fall
high as his chest, low as his hooves--
Knows the currents,
the staccato and rhythms
of the stream in every season.

He brakes then--
Curious.
I prod him to keep moving.
He pauses for no reason at all.
What thoughts make him hesitate?
No answer. Perhaps a passing memory.
I see how he could take flight
if he wished, but he has no such wish.
Not like me, not like what I dream.
The moment is ripe while I'm not yet.
And now the boy pauses and looks ahead.