The Meadow
by Joel Solonche

The meadow.
The small pond nearly dry.
The stream too empty.
The rain last night
and the drizzle this morning
hardly enough
to break the drought.
One horse in the meadow.
I remember his two companions.
I watch him.
He is strong and graceful.
His companions
are strong and graceful on either side.
He is alone, eating.
The tail waves.
Theirs wave.
Three waves.
Now he looks up.
The neck is a tree.
The eyes are large and dark.
They look up
Their necks are trees.
Their eyes are large and dark.
I want his eyes to ask
about his companions.
But no.
They say: "See.
All this hay is mine."

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