Beckon

All shades of gray
And naked oaks —
Stoic in the rain —
Just a backdrop
As you wonder
Where that horse might be.

Black mane lost
In clouded shadow,
Trembling breath in a fog,
Hooves tear spring turf.

And she was right, you know,
About the streets
When they get wet –-
Colors –-
Cloud –-
The sky.
How you miss them now.
So easy to distract, the vision,
From the sought
To the blurred-branch reflection
In puddles.

And puddles –-
Another underworld
To leap over
As you carry on
And follow
The flick of a tail
As the corner bends.

Again distracted —
Rays break through —
But it’s just a moment.
Spring-sweet on the breeze,
Those white blossoms
Promise
Berries later to soothe
Your hollow nerve.

Listen again —
Hoofbeat rhythm.
Can you smell it?
On foxfeet make your way
To that meadow
Where golden grasses roll
Like an ocean.

Conceal yourself
Here in the willow-shadow.
He stands
In breaking sunlight,
Waiting for the sound
Of your breath.

Somewhere on a high wind,
Or wave,
A balloon,
A bottle
Carries your message
To the others.

Forgive his flight
As he lowers
His head to meet your gaze.
Brief glimpses
Of meaning
Shake the stones.

No more money
Or time.
Mud cracks under the nail.
You made that hole with your bare hands.
Lay the bones there now
And sing a lullaby.
Send them to sleep.
Cover it over.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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