In those days the horses seemed
as dinosaurs, but gentle. I watched them
wander one end
of field to the other,
the brown clouds of their shadows
in the late afternoon, trailing.
Mostly they stayed away. But once
in a while, like a tribe
of benevolent gods, they’d offer
their eyes, those polished stones,
their swivel ears, purse-shaped,
delicate, their massive hooves,
sturdy and perfectly curved.
And once, in a dream, I fell
from that rail—I knew they could crush me—
but they formed a circle
and for a long while watched
over me until the oldest, by my collar
in his teeth, lifted me back.
In my dream, they turned
together to the green field,
that trough, their deep
and generous shade.