As horses go, he was a good one. With flecks of dust scattered through his coat, stars peaking through an amber mantle that did not leave with the pass of the hand. The boys called him goat, an apt name to describe a temperament crossed between arrogance and disdain, belligerence born of too many saddles. Today there would be no saddle. Today there would just be the soft, smooth, satisfying pressure of buttocks and thigh. He waited, unstill, restless, expecting the arrival that for eight years meant freedom. Freedom he remembered before the boys, before the many saddles, when the cool water poured over his back and through his loins weightless and wonderful. He smelled her before he saw her or maybe sensed her before he smelled her. That magnificent sense that only horses have. We call it common, but there's nothing common about it. He began to pace. Head lifting, stretching, breathing, inhaling the sweet scent of her always the same, always breath taking. Less than 30 seconds would elapse between the time the paddock was unlocked, the bit was inserted and her leg lifted over the slightly sagging back They were one and gone, and though goat was not built for speed for an instance it seemed speed was built for him He knew the paths, the spaces and the narrows. He knew the soft touch that would signal today's course But today there was no guide no lead, just the flex of firm muscle joining effortlessly with his every move. He loved these days. The jasmine saturating the air, the wet grasses oozing with the breath of life Today, sweat was good. Sweat was always good but today the moisture between her legs and his back seemed to tingle. He ran hard, pushing back the wind, feeling with every lunge the union, horse and rider, become complete. They were one, as if the blood which pounded through his veins coursed through hers as well. He could have paused as he passed the ancient oak dripping with moss tickling his back. He might even have rested at the grave where time was buried next to the blackberry bush bursting with fruit. Not today. Today was not meant for pauses or rests or rememberings. Today was meant for one thing. His nostrils flared filling with the taste of the river. His legs ached the good ache that soon would dissolve in the sweet water of the river. Every breath, time and space, un-separate, un-separate, un-separate, until in breathless wonder drenched, soaking, drunk. They had been here before and each time, though different, held a wonder. Each time they remembered. They remembered when before the sun and before the stars, before time became a notch on some slingers gun, before rememberings were tainted by pain, when he was so over-filled.

Once within time, as time goes, there was a moment… then was not. The tadpoles of the river time were pushing shoving energy. Some raced to meet the final tide, some fought to negate the river flow. But as they fought, and as they raced, the river time, as we all know, cared not at all about their plight and moving slowly, ever slow, palpates pouring purple pools over and under colliding collision. The river is a gentle wave, a wandering most gracious host. The waterfront knows the bounty of she who comes to mingle with the sea. The foolish game that tads will play, to make you think they're really gay, of pushing, pleading, bleeding hate why can't they see it's all the fate of too much time spent fighting hard to speed or slow the river flow, But on and on as she must go to meet the ocean with her gifts in happy union dancing lifts the hearts and souls of those who sift through all the hasty hoards. Yin and Yang, two tads in time, began to see why there is rhyme, and separately they began to know the peace of mind within the flow. Setting in to know her well they came to see she cast a spell. Their tail's movement ceased to show for time had bound them in her flow. Silly, simple, super slow, sally, soiree, ripple, roll, bouncy borders, bubbly brew, and through it all I know they grew to love the river and loving still to rise to fall to sup their fill. In flowing still amidst the pain of broken tads, they calm remain. Yin was flowing bound to time and suddenly he heard it climb intense perfusion never sang he glanced around, and there was Yang. Conversing shyly, a common gauge, they came to ask each other's age. "I'm eleven warp going on fop", said Yin and suddenly he felt Yang stop "You're awfully old to be so young". It's really funny what the tadpole tongue will do to salvage its silly plight by cutting time like pieces of tin So instead of are, we have been. Seeing the words, how faulty they seem, they paused not again, but passed with the stream.

The love I have was safe within large barriers I'd built Or were created by unwitting jealousy or guilt. It's just that when I'd loved before I'd always gotten pain, And it has taken years for me to learn to love again. For some it may come easily, their love a waterfall, But mine is locked securely inside my castle walls. I never asked her to approach, no welcome did she find The love that I protected was wounded, weak and blind. But she it seemed was different, she innocently stood And talked of things I'd dreamed of and asked me if I would Let down the drawbridge of my mind that she might look inside And though I was mistrusting, the doors I opened wide. But I forgot to tell her that once she did come in, The doors she entered through must then be closed again. I wasn't sure that what I had might be of any worth For what was in my castle was all I knew of earth. It wasn't really very much, just some trinkets and some beads And a garden that lay dormant and overrun with weeds. But still I stood a sentry, and kept out visitors, Until she walked so gently through my garden doors. I watched her cautiously at first to see what she might bring, And gently she began to teach my garden about spring. She taught the butterflies to dance, the roses how to grow, And where the weeds had once run wild, bright flowers she would sow. Silently I watched her dance and joy would fill my heart, But with the joy came terror that some day she might depart. "Why did you come within my walls? What do you want from me?" "I ask for nothing in return," she said, "My love is Free!" "Is Free." she said, and long I thought what that word free could mean For though I'd traveled many miles, true freedom I'd not seen. For every man I'd met had walls to lock in or lock out And there was not a soul I'd seen who freely walked about. For each man had his refuge, each woman had her place, And each was bound securely to their private little space. They walked about, but each was tethered tightly to a dream, They were not what they wanted, and they were not what they seemed. "Is Free" she said so easily and though I'd heard her word spoke often by the ones outside, to be free is absurd. The birds are free, the trees, the air, but people can't be so They think too much, they cogitate; they're bound to what they know. And so I searched to know what thought had bound her in its spell, And though I watched her through the years, I simply couldn't tell. "Is Free," she said and then I knew that freedom was her dream And when I saw my doors shut tight, my heart let out a scream. "No, don't want that, want anything, but that would make me grieve, To open up my castle doors and then to see you leave. I know my castle is not large, but it is safe and warm, I could not bear to see you go or watch you come to harm." She looked at me quite curiously and said, "Why would I go?" For though she said "Free" easily, her dream she didn't know. And all this time while I stood observing from afar, She'd looked at me, quite lovingly, as freedom's guiding star. "Why can't she see that I'm not free; my castle doors are closed. Is someone who is free content to lock in what he knows?" True freedom means there are no walls, there just the universe. And though I loved my castle, it now became a curse. "How can I keep her locked inside when she wants to be free? How can I let her go since she's become a part of me?" My castle was so different when she entered in to share But if she left, I thought the spring would die from lack of care. I knew I should be thankful, some gardens never bloom But just the thought of parting would fill my heart with gloom. I could not bear to watch her dance, for how could I replace The void that would be left if I could not observe that face. She watched me as I walked about, and she could sense my pain And when she asked the reason why, I did try to explain. But though I'd tell her slowly, and try to make it clear, It seemed ridiculous to her that I should have such fear. "For fear's the biggest obstacle to living as we should, And fear will stop a genius from becoming what he could. You can't be frightened of what comes, for it will soon be past And dwelling on a bad event will only make it last. Don't let your mind be troubled by what should or shouldn't be, For though I don't know much, I know that will not set you free. You'll constantly be thinking about what you should have done And when you're finished thinking, what you could have had is gone." And though I knew that being was the most important thing I could not stop the thoughts with which my head began to ring. "But what if this, and what if that," my mind began to say, My castle would not be a home if she would go away. She laughed so gently through it all but said soon she must go. I learned to laugh too with her in the joy I'd come to know. We loved, we laughed, we talked to trees for she had given birth To a new and wondrous ecstasy I'd never known on earth. She brought me to the mountaintop; she warmed me in the cold And though I stepped out cautiously, her love would make me bold. "Is Free," she'd say, "is free, is free, these words you must remember." Then suddenly she went away, one day late in December. Quite suddenly, although she said, and I knew she must go, She went away while children played with sleigh bells in the snow. She did not want to go, but knew it was the time. And I knew too through parts of her that she had let be mine. The garden she left still in bloom, the drawbridge still is down, The butterflies she'd taught to dance still freely flit around. The heart that truly will be free will learn to freely give And through the doors she opened wide her love forever lives.