HORSE ON A HILL

Along this strip of new highway

miles of pasture

rise and fall without farmhouse or barn.

At the top of one straw cut ridge

a stallion kisses the ground.

Wind sculpts his mane,

a monument,

reddish brown against sky.

He rears and opens his throat

to the horizon.

My car will be one of many.

 

 

 

 

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