Rears Its Majestic

It's unlikely light would stay
attached to moon if not for
its suspicious nature;

inside each cloud
a core of black,

a pack of wolves.

Every night shadow
performs Shakespeare
reciting damning verse;

fields cling
to sky's dresses like

frightened girls.

What hunts or flies
or runs has no need
for ambiguous inquiry:

who will bury them,
what is their mysterious
duty, to whom should

they pray?

To them Eternity
speaks the language
of wild horses,

rears its majestic,
burning chest

without fear or

gallops away.

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