Grey Horse In Connecticut
Walked a waking dream
north by Thomas church
before the red wing black bird flew
where barn-breaking winter had not withdrawn
even though the fourth day of sunlight
had woke the river from its sleep
and red birds sang with invisible birds
and the only other sound
fresh water ice scrapes against the shore
spun slow in an eddy water loop
copper green burnish brown
pushed eventually further down around the bend
And myself to cross the wood plank bridge
must walk the stone wall borders ancient flooded road
found there in some wood shake run in shed
himself framed in darker doorway
cocks his black edged ears to my whistle
slights his softer winter whiskered head to my whistle
no other movement
