The Mounted Patrol

From that moment
whole day was saddled horses.

In bits and reins
they cracked
clods up the cycleway,
arched into the magnifying light.
of the flyover
clip-clop clip-clop in ratio to unicorns.

Brindled fetlocks and withers.
The sun tint was embellishing
from a timeless deep space
and where the constabulary helmets
teetered and swayed
they were all ears and eyes.
I almost wished them knights,
measured in hands
with airborne plumes of titan-red
contrary with make-believe
Parma violet capes.

A blackbird cheeped notey