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Caroline May 2017
I remember how the clover was blooming
Reckless and scattered in vast
Swaths of golden sun
Bright and wild
Fragrant, free.

Across this pasture I remember
Flying, hands outstretched,
Rising in time to
His gaited steps.
His rhythmic breaths.

The scent of his clover-sweetened musk,
I remember, it was like
Earth and sage and rain
At dusk,

When you are crying in the barn,

Cradling his head,

In gentle, trembling arms.

I remember how the clover was blooming
At the brink of fall.
Reckless and scattered in
Thin swaths of graying tones,
Dying, free.
To you, my friend - my old brown horse. You taught me how to ride, and then my oldest daughter, and then her younger sister. Twenty-three years of riding through the clover. I miss you.
a gale Aug 2014
She held her heart out
Filled with tape and glue
As her hand shakes
You can barely read
How it was plastered with
“Handle with care”

*a. gale

— The End —