The mustang races her shadow
across the valley
to the far hilltop
where she stands for a moment
quivering – so aware of being free.
Arrogant with the power of escape,
she turns to watch her shadow
slowly sliding upward and closer.
Then she’s off again,
down the sheer wall
between her and the sun,
racing across the Plain of Moon,
mane whipping against her neck,
tail arched and defiant.
The sun cannot catch her
with her shadow.
The moon shall not find her
waiting to pay tribute.
She is alone and free.
She shall not be tied
to the earth by the lie
her shadow would tell.
She is strong. She is alive,
unbound — beyond the touch
of sun or moon
with only the wind
to know her name.
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