moor

Moor

It is where Gods followed you,
crumpled and rehashed you,
the whole, grainy beast of you,
made something Moorish,
something calmer, something new.

It is where the mind went to grow,
that day the earthen breast of you
sat with a hammering that came
from more than sheet rain and wind,
where there was only warmth
to be found by running.

And on that run there were ponies,
cloud-full grey, a few startled sheep,
litter in an unswimmable
but jumpable stream,
where nothing is more fearsome
than a human, palms up.

And it is where those worthy Gods
went to remind you
where you came from,
how you got here,
and all that is at peace
when you step back
from where you are.