I wake to a dream of only rain,

and two horses.


A vast lap of sage falls away,

like something that’s already lost.


We are so small,

beneath abandoned fists of stone.


Two tiny horses,

descending through mist.


Hanging rain  defines

the space inside the canyon.


Delicate hooves

discover the earth.


There is no distance to measure,

between two shining horses,


pounding with a single beat,

across the fleeing grass,


turning as one, unconsciously,

as if they had invented each other.


But the meadow has no memory

of the shrouded higher ground.


Last years calves scatter the ridge,

new bones bloom in the ache of the wind.


The grey afternoon remains,

unrequited in the canyon.


Wondering in silence,

if it was ever not alone.




~ by tjeffcarey on February 3, 2012.

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