Neither the Artist nor Author signed
Song of the Painted Wind
In the hush where starlight learns to breathe,
A horse of night moves through blue fire.
Gold remembers the paths of elders
etched along muscle and mane,
each line a prayer carried forward
by hooves that know the old names of earth.
Its eye holds the circle—
time folding back into itself,
river into sky, sky into seed.
We listen, and the wind listens too.
as the painted spirit passes,
leaving courage in the dust
and a promise braided into the dark.
Song of the Painted Wind
In the hush where starlight learns to breathe,
A horse of night moves through blue fire.
Gold remembers the paths of elders
etched along muscle and mane,
each line a prayer carried forward
by hooves that know the old names of earth.
Its eye holds the circle—
time folding back into itself,
river into sky, sky into seed.
We listen, and the wind listens too.
as the painted spirit passes,
leaving courage in the dust
and a promise braided into the dark.
Neither the Artist nor Author signed
Song of the Painted Wind
In the hush where starlight learns to breathe,
A horse of night moves through blue fire.
Gold remembers the paths of elders
etched along muscle and mane,
each line a prayer carried forward
by hooves that know the old names of earth.
Its eye holds the circle—
time folding back into itself,
river into sky, sky into seed.
We listen, and the wind listens too.
as the painted spirit passes,
leaving courage in the dust
and a promise braided into the dark.
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