Thinking of James Wright

I know, I know, there are those who call—
Two horses in particular
So that I, a blind man
Hear them like books read aloud.

Each has his voice
Each wants a touch.
I run my fingers gently
Down their long foreheads
And lightly across their noses.

What are we waiting for?
What are we going to do about it
In the meantime?

Author: stevekuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by stevekuusisto