The soft heavens above
gently let their children
fall to the ground, small
sparkling baby diamonds
land delicately on top of
one another, cuddling together,
sharing all they have
to give; their icy warmth
and soft touch
before the sun wrenches apart
the protective clouds and
turns her heated gaze
at the resting newborns

O peach pit heart
here’s rain to drink
uncurl, let fall
the bristling gate
the single, precious drop.

O desert mind,
prepared for wars
that never came
disperse!

It’s gone.
and what was it again?
that urgent incantation
that spell for warding off the past

that breathed it into being?

Put the saddle on the mare,
For the wet winds blow;
There's winter in the air,
And autumn all below.
For the red leaves are flying
And the red bracken dying,
And the red fox lying
Where the oziers grow.

Put the bridle on the mare,
For my blood runs chill;
And my heart, it is there,
On the heather-tufted hill,
With the gray skies o'er us,
And the long-drawn chorus
Of a running pack before us
From the find to the ****.

Then lead round the mare,
For it's time that we began,
And away with thought and care,
Save to live and be a man,
While the keen air is blowing,
And the huntsman holloing,
And the black mare going
As the black mare can.