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Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Horses At The Edge of The Sea

This poem was published in a very limited broadside edition by Tom Kryss at Black Rabbit Press and by Medusa's Kitchen


The horizon is far away, a sullen

Fog, a brooding and endless grey,

Begrudging the evening light,

Holding it for minutes then allowing

A spot of sun, red light on waves. It dapples

The hides of the horses, then quickly

Excuses itself and wanders up to the sand cliffs and gets lost

In the canyon leading to the water.

There is a stillness to all this.

The sound of air in and out

Of horse nostrils. A shiver

Across the back, small pawing

On the sand.

Somewhere a bird knows something

About all of this and makes its special noise.

Eyes roll toward the sound then back

To the edge of the water.

The horses are seemingly doing nothing.

They have come down here for the evening, as

We do, without expectations or purpose

Beyond just being there at that moment.

We watch them grow darker in the fading

Light until they are shadow forms against

A sea moving back and forth on the edge.

Now there is land. Now there is water.

Now there is light. Now there are horses.

Now there is nothing to see.

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