Fifteen maybe, they are content
in this field bordered only
by Harney Road.
Their silky, muscled necks
to afternoon grass, I lift fence wire,
slip through, approach
Heads raise, one by one.
Then, like some tribal cue,
they all turn, pack, gallop
in my direction.
Ancient rocking, dipping like swallows,
I am cause and destination of this
It all happens so fast,
I just stand as they rocket around me.
One gangly foal, running in the middle,
its eyes wide and level with my chest,
squeaks and darts past, last second.
And then it’s over, the other side of me.
They drop their heads, graze again.
Next, I’m just hand to grass,
grab a clump, extend
Two heads raise this time and two bodies
walk toward me.
One, forelock in her eyes, hangs back
while the other comes up, softly
lips from my hand.
I feel the velvet couch of her nose.
She turns around then,
tail swishing, ladies gown sound,
and touches noses with shyer one:
my hand grass muzzles
field road beauty
luck this time