Somewhere a chestnut horse
plods along a leafy trail.

His steady rider
also nods. They move as one

one bent unit
rolling like a song

up and down the shifting rays.

They are off
to find another place,
humming, easy as summer.

It may seem
they 've left me here,
amid the noise and street-scapes

but in the airborne scatter of the song
I am riding with them.

When we get there,
there will be

apple trees in hot September
shedding for us-the horse, the rider and for me.

The juice will slake our thirst.
The drenching sun

will slide to four o'clock
as quick with joy and sweat

we three mount up
and find the trail again.

by Judith R. Robinson

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