From the meadow to the trough, their tails switching, their deep guttural sounds,
and do they remember her disrobing down there for the man with his camera,
cupping her breasts and kissing her where her legs parted for the full feeling of him
on his knees, her dark olive skin a sheen in the noonday sun, the horses happy . . .
Or so he thought he knew, for how could they be so beautiful, these creatures,
if not happy, at least as happy as a man with a camera whose eyes see the sorrow:
(22 August 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander
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