Bogota

In stifflegged essence, in leaf shadow beauty, it stands,
the poem entire. What I give
you is merely the opening
for what lies in wait. And we say it together: horse.
There, yes, the air filled already
with the odors and the noise of saddle leather,
limning the leaping jolts from
youth to age, all your pititful longing wrapped up
in a single image bursting
through the frame
like a Remington painting, movement at the apogee,
frozen. Waiting for the breath
that only you can give, cheeks rouged with fear, clear back
to your childhood,
the wet caress of the mist touching you,
high in the mountains of Colombia, half-starved ponies
drifting ahead like ghosts,
your uncle calling over his shoulder
"don't let the shitass balk, you'll be left behind,
and no one will know."

James Lineberger is a professional playwright and screenwriter. His poetry has appeared in New York Quarterly, Verse, Hayden's Ferry Review, Hanging Loose, Ontario Review, Exquisite Corpse, Snake Nation Review, Sonora Review, Praire Schooner, and a number of online publications. He was twice awarded First Place, IBPC, and has been a Pushcart Prize nominee. His book, JUDGMENT CALL: COMPLETE POEMS, 1994-2004, is available online at http://www.lulu.com/content/59074