The shadow of a conductor’s baton
falls across the carefully orchestrated
concerto of Saratoga stallions...
falls over racecourse soil
soft as moss sonata,
falls upon the rhythm of a
valiantly galloped arpeggio,
falls with the
resonant reminder
to reach a winning pitch,
falls
at the top of the stretch,
tangling into sudden stumble,
snapping string
on expensive equine instrument.
The tempo is
broken.
A grandstand chorale quits the Ode to Joy,
transposing, minor, into Requiem
as if directed by sudden, distant sirens.
Levitated quietly
onto gentle strangers'
swinging stretchers, horse and rider
harmonize - an effortless, metronomed
coda won equally by each
in fated photo finish.
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