I ride easy, sit lightly
on the broad back of a
spirited Gypsy horse,
we race along a slender slice
of wild Irish beach.
Gallop steady
hoof prints mark wet sand.
Tangled mane teases my face
we lean, headstrong into the wind.
Unruly clouds, sidestep
away from us, shift,
toss sunlight, shadow
over layers of emerald hills
hemmed by the horizon,
like patchwork quilts
thrown casually
over rising slopes.
They blur quickly by,
noisy gulls chase
surging surf that
recedes only to return
unleashed, wearing wings.
Breath pulses
in… and out of us, like the tides,
blood courses through our veins
unused to such passion.
We touch this soil.
We breathe this air.
We feel this magic.
Ireland.
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