Long afternoons our bodies
Cleave to his back
Part work, part riding
Mixed horse, our pinto
Brown-white spotted hide
Soft, smooth as couches
We drift with the regular
Chewing rhythm of his jaws
Grazing across the pasture
Flick of tail
Or tremulous skin jilting
Flies we miss
Intent on clouds
The sky above our heads
His pulsing warmth
Horse smell merged with our
Skin, salt sweat and sweet
The last musky scent we know
Before we fall asleep
The bright moon drifting through
Our dreams
Outside he sleeps
Beneath the pear tree, hooves
Round and gleaming in the grass
Among the fallen fruit
-Susan Schefflein
Draft © 2005 S. Schefflein All rights reserved.
1 comment:
This is the poem in which I was instructed to change pear to apple. But the pears were gleaming in the moon with the hooves and that is what it had to be.
Post a Comment