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It is no mirage; this wind is visible. I see it stretch in brown, floating rhythm, phantom-like, on the horizon, mixed with earth and sky. Slowly it takes the shape of music in motion - body, mane, tail, the thin legs slicing time into rhythmic beats of thunder. Closer now, the full form breezes down with love-daring eyes and nuzzling nose of velvet. I shall become a part of this visible wind, this flowing poetry. I shall stretch with him in brown, floating rhythm, phantom-like on the horizon of the world.

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