riding him reminds me
the first days I rode through
back fields with rakes and hoes,
the fox hole by the river.
covered in leaves we made a promise:
never ride alone through woods
and words
and worm-work.
that collapsed and everything fell
hay down
rakes down
hoes all down,
but
before that we drank
from golden horse troughs
eating apple treats and oats
plucking weeds from pasture
(dandelions and nightshade,
milkweed and mullein,
knotweed and lady's thumb)
never caring for future,
caring only for promises for keeps.
I've buckled again to my stirrups spurs ready to ride
alone with him underneath and far
away into the woods.
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