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She passes the place
where I sit some mornings,
her slow, sure gait pads
a gentle elegance across
the grass carrying
just a hint of indifference.
Retired from racing, 
she has been adopted out.

She seems contained within
herself, ignoring the yappy terrier 
and the playful retriever 
that bounds towards her 
on her right, not shifting 
her gaze as if transfixed
on some vision 
she holds in her head. 
Nothing of the morning
disturbs her meditations.

I often wonder whether
she is playing out a trauma
that has lodged in her memory
or can't fit the past and present 
together into some reconcilable 
whole or her aloofness 
is just the nature of the breed 
and the interpretation 
of her manner
has more to do with me.

There is a solitude in her
that I cannot fathom and troubles
me. Sometimes I feel 
like bending down
and putting my arms around
her lovely neck but a reticence 
holds me back as we both
go our separate ways,
each with our own solitude 
held locked within.

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