Fifteen-two hands high, half a ton
of black horse – she bore me
through dry arroyos and over alfalfa fields
in bloom. But how could I carry her
to college? There’s no place in a dorm-room
for a Morgan-Quarter mare.
I dropped her – reins and all – into
the hands of a stranger.
Forty-eight years later, I find
I’m still carrying her
in my mind.