I think about James Wright,
but it's not yet twilight,
and we aren't in Minnesota.
It's winter in Colorado
and instead of grass there's snow.
Instead of willows, evergreens.
I am alone, not with a friend,
as I step over, not barbed wire,
but a split rail fence, to greet them.
Neither one is slender,
though both are black and white,
and I cannot tell you
if they love each other.
Or if they are happy. Or kind.
Their flanks do ripple beneath their skin,
but they do not bow or nuzzle.
A wild, chill wind
carries all our frozen breath
high up the ridge line.
There is nothing shy or delicate here.
Just a pocketful
of hard, red, winter apples.
Two Ponies by Shaun R. Pankoski | Sandalwood Poetry Reed Diffuser Set
$20.00Price
