Leaning on the gate. Checking
water tanks at dusk, one last
glance at the herd before heading
in. I feel his eyes soft on me,
from the far side of the pen, his
muzzle deep in hay. Awestruck, my
involuntary response to his beauty.
Under my breath, I barely murmur
the tall gray’s name aloud but still
it fills the sky, making the sunset
smolder to a dusty ember and
just as infinity comes to rest
in this suspended moment, the
gelding lifts his head to consider me,
needing no enticement bigger than
a whispered word he knows is his.
Anna Blake at Infinity Farm
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