There Were Horses

There were horses in all our days.
An open white page in any book was a lean white horse

looking out, and a swollen door stuttering at night
was the breath and stamp of a horse nearby.

Boys ran like horses
and our hidden eyes in the oak trees

wore their depth of amber.
Even the mountain swung its back low between peaks

and moved into the plain of darkness
like a horse coming home.

Those days we brushed each other's hair like the manes of horses
and with their kindness gave each other kingly gifts.

We stood skin to skin in the rain. We swept away the gathering flies.

Copyright © 2009 Annie Lighthart All rights reserved
from Crab Creek Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission