I look to the petals
Of my Cranesbill
Pink and translucent in
A front of sunlight
Tiny veins spread
Like fingers cupping a
Font

I smile and pat
My horse's shoulder
And carefully slip
The stem into his
Mane

He huffs and sniffs
And pads the ground
And throws his head
Spurred by memories
Of lightening
And wine-dark skies
And race lanes
And carrots
And a waiting bed of sweet
Hay

And the sounds of inky
Birds crowing
Even now 
From their homes
Woven of foliage
And occasional pools
Of swimming sun

Words fail
Mountains limp
Waves of daggered
Lips slip and lie still 
The sea's moan
Settles

My storm
Horse
Steps to
With his pink
Bloom
And me
And the sun
And night birds
And heavy trees

And the verge.
Gallop language
A seemingly delicate bloom
Perched just behind the ear