HORSES
All these horses mean nothing now : the farmyard fence
seems bent around the meadow. The dark, morning light,
not yet quite ready, only touches the treetops faintly, so
that I merely think I see. High above, some intense
white of a piercing moon, as if a leftover segment
of the night before, lingers in the morning sky.
Suspended - seemingly - high yet heavy
over a brooding barnyard curve, throwing
slender shadows to mysterious
driveway trees near where
the horses stand.
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