My Abbozzo

I see an image of a long black horse hair.
I hold both ends between my fingertips and pull-taunt, like a hair on my violin bow.
Coal color hooves walk on dry cracked dirt,
Making a smothered sound, like a fist punching a pillow
      or the sound of a plucked A string on a cello.
A rich bold sound in my ears.
I follow the pace.

I can smell the brown fur coat,
Smells like smeared paint oils, thick and waxy
Running in herds, colors blend and blur-
brown, black, white, grey and gold.
Earth colors, fall colors
Colors that wave and smear together on moving canvasses like ribboned lines in aboriginal art.