"Midnight"
It's a small walk down
the street with no sidewalk,
more treacherous now for the snow.
A crust of ice has gathered
against the edges of the pavement,
but we have a sled and you're pleased
to be pulled along the thin
just-covered shoulder. Because there
are horses. The chestnut mare named Chestnut
and the piebald pony named
Edgar who disappeared for a whole
summer but is back now because it's winter.
And our breath hovers just before
our covered heads, our hands encased in
gloves but for your own that hesitate as you
extend to touch the black appaloosa
named Midnight. And I can see against your
face the fear fade as your fingers sink into the
soft coat. Midnight's marble eyes
pleased that you decided
to come and say hello.