For great freedom
Black Pegasus takes the canyon's edge, nostrils flaring at resin smoke,
never broken to a bridle, never shod in bronze or iron.
Wings spanning a javelin throw, static crackling at the shoulder,
the footfall turns sand to glass, the breath scours a hundred leagues.
Fetters fall to pieces at a glance, prison cells crumble to bright flakes.
We descend, speaking the old speech so Black Pegasus will know us.
All our first-born hold secret names, looking to climb that broad back,
fair passage to a land without pain, going faster than a whipcrack,
a voice like everlasting thunder brimming a trembling valley.
On a terrible day for the wicked, the great dark angel strikes justly.
