In the
evening, I drink in the small earth,
the hills
shoulder to shoulder,
the sun’s gold
twining with shadow and chaparral.
Long I taste
the loamy river bottom,
the leafy insinuations
and sweetgrass
scarps.
Before I sip
down the coastal breeze,
I swirl the
gulls aloft for a moment
and allow a
single white horse to reflect
against the
calming ocean water.
The horse stock-still.
— Mitchell Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment