Swift fields wild with mustard, sunflowers
knotted along disturbed roadways.
I ran up the hill. I ran down the hill.
I rode the chestnut horse.
I could smell manure & summer heat,
sweat beading along his neck. I rode bareback,
leaning forward hanging onto
his mane, cantering, then galloping, crashing
through the thin woodland.
I slept near the river on the ground,
the horse standing beside me made low
slow sounds as stars slipped
through the dark. The moon rose as I fell
into the dream of the other world.
That urgent flesh beneath me. To reel
at the edge, dizzy, when he snapped
his head from side to side & veered
too close to a tree. How I feared & loved him.
Bay Area poet Jane Downs is a partner in Red Berry Editions. Her work has won prizes and appeared in numerous journals. Her novel, The Sleeping Wall, was a finalist in the Chiasmus Press book contest. She recently published a handmade chapbook, The Weight of Pink Peonies.