After the Winter

Horses: we found them as they saw us
dropping down from the chalk hill
through beech and dogwood and over the stile
into their paddock on our first day out

the silver-grey leading the chestnuts
neck bobbing in the unhurried horse-stroll
the enquiry by nose-velvet and snuffling
over clothes pockets and uncurled hands

the long careless manes flick
the startle like young girls
as our hands flutter and reach out
just to touch just to stroke

then stilled as we still
and stand minds dripping into the earth
eye to eye breathing

held while the murmur of our cells
within the silence between us
centres the just-spring of the valley
with its bare branches poising to leaf

I rise and grow into wholeness
inside the loved body
of what is
overwhelmingly here

it’s too word-shy or sacred
to be nudged towards purpose
but it tastes of wild fruit
of blood and sweet rain

and is born with sudden impeccable teeth.

Posted: Thu 5 Jul, 2012