I remember the long faces;
holding them in my hands
and tracing the war-paint smears,
feeling the delicate softness
of their earth-colored coats gliding
beneath my fingers.
Large shining orbs turning
to look into my smaller
(yet no less shining) ones
as if to show me that
my affection was
perfectly okay with them.
Oh, and the final moments
when we would place our
noses together, breathing
each other in, then granting
each other a brief respite
from such immense beauty before
our hearts gave way
to the necessity of it all.
I’m no cowboy and you would think,
seeing as I grew up in a family
that managed a horse ranch,
that I would know a thing
or two more about these
wonderful creatures.
Then again,
perhaps I already know
what is most important.
