Larry D. Thomas

Horsehair

To archive years of sunshine

and the glow of gibbous moons

numbering in the hundreds,

it flows like strands of midnight

from the necks and tails of stallions

thundering through arroyos

like wild, black rivers,

 

corralled in the clutches

of wide-eyed prodigies who,

shoving and pulling it

stretched on bows to perfection,

coax late Beethoven

from the dried, twisted

guts of slaughtered sheep.