Once the warm flow of horses
Dried up under the locked mind
that held me from them
changed by friskiness, played
havoc on my senses,
flamed, re-flamed me where I made
my architecture of bedrock in the
Then beyond the conscious mind all
was at ease.
Cotton batting stopped up the fence line
where a horse neighs of delight, comforting,
had kicked holes through.
A late summer I could never know
traveled the cut-up road with
an evil called loose rock.
It was so pure, though dusty
from nowhere its crumbles flying.
Beyond the mind all was resting.
I bowed in my lonely ritual.
26 March~~Love Sharon