Deep White, Deep Stallion, Deep Wild

An imp, or was it a child, imps along, riding wild white stallions, or white ponies, or colts, or foals, into sandy–coral sand, sands of coral–over a fossil sea bed, a dry river resting place, a salt flat, a salt mine lying, on a bed, beneath the desert,

The impish child, holding onto a mane, or was it a wave, or a wash, a dry wash, an arroyo, rioting and roiled, the impish royal riled child, drags its hardened hands against the tousled waving hair, hair curling, and impishly rides or is it surfs, or is it coasts, the curl.

Impish child, can you think concretely?

Impish child, learn to ride a stallion by riding a pony?

Impish child, be broken by the stallion someone broke for you as a colt?

Can you, impish child, grab the curl of the mane, and surfing concretely, grab hold of stallion force, as the stallion feels the force of your tug, and is guided?

Concrete, solid, unmoved by tides.

Sand, shifting, tormented by tides.

Wild white stallion has a certain deep affinity to impish child, impishly astride.

Founding father?