The mare, so far away,
a sense of movement in the fields.
I stood watching,
belly nine months large.
Motion rippled through the grass
matched by rushing winds.
Mane flowing, she galloped toward me,
legs in synch with some internal pace
ears pinned against the breeze.
I stared, mesmerized.
She sauntered close, approached the gate
then slowly turned and bent to graze,
beads of sweat upon her flanks
breathing deeply at her task.
I stood watching quietly
until arms jerked reflexively,
hands to back as waves within me
grew to jabs, a quickening pace.
And so I left the mare that day,
neighing softly in the winds.
She watched me as I’d watched her,
when I placed the latch upon the gate
and crosed the creek toward home.
Posting today for OLN at dVerse, the virtual pub for poets. Gayle opens the bar at 3 PM – drop in and imbibe some words!