The Horses

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The Horses

She waits for him by the horses.
Long muzzles jet their steamy breath

and from the first rung of fence
she extends her arm.

They ignore her.  She never could
prick the equine ear, her throat

unable to click like her cousin’s.
The smooth barrels of their bodies

remain out of reach and she looks
at a glossy bulb of brown eye.

Will they see him before she does?
They interrupt the stillness –

flicking their matted manes
over shuddering backs and then he comes

stumbling into sight; all coat and bluster
and red cheek.  She pushes back

his hood, kisses him, his mouth opening.
They stay close to each other’s

lips, while he curses his tardy self
and she shushes him, feels the rain’s

erratic start. Where shall we go?
But neither moves.  They stay at the edge

of the field: this girl, her lover, four horses
and a sheet of greying sky.

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