This happy horse of my life that
I ride around in circles
circle like the face of a clock
clock-numbered all the way around this

This circle is the voice in the center
laying out our tasks for us
in time.
Never mind
the saddle and jodhpurs and boots and reins
the walks and trots and canters
and sun and dust and sweat.

This dappled gray horse of my life
whose shoulders unfurl to a rhythm
as I guide her into line behind the
buckskin horse and the bay horse as we
all form a circle at the direction
of the voice in the center
at a walk and a trot and a canter

circling the dust, shadows changing
as we changed hands and turned
serpentines through the center of the circle
the voice silent for once as I led the way.