turning the corner I see a horse
nobbing its head against the end
of the fencing. the long neck rolls
and twists, stretching then upward
to flex the muscles while a subcutaneous
shimmer washes back down towards
ride cowboy ride. I grew up watching
men I thought were my heroes astride
such beautiful animals, and acting as if
they all were pals. the men were in real
life not quite as noble as they were made
nor the horses quite as well cared for, yet
there was a truth.
large deep eyes rise now to gaze at me,
an ear rises, then flicks, and a stare seems
to fix me before that great head turns to
walk slowly away towards a distant pasture.
I would have liked to run my fingers down that
long velvet face, till it nodded down into a sugar cube
in my hand. but I had none to offer, and only a yearning
left over from my youth.
(with a nod for Roger McGuinn)