Rocinante y Babieca

As the neighbor’s horses enter the meadow,

they race in a circle around an invisible fire,

hooves drumming to the beat of a corrido

recounting ancestral tales of power and glory,

before drifting off in pairs to graze on

sweet grass softened by evening dew.

* * * * *

Walking Each Other Home

when you called

we walked in small steps

from the middle of the bridge

small steps

to safety

one after another

until our feet

reached solid ground

* * * * *

Forty Days

February 22

The last moments of sun brighten 

a stand of trees naked without leaves, 

glowing like stacks of pennies. 

I chase the rays up the street  

but the sky grows darker with each step  

and fifty yards later they vanish. 

I turn back slowly toward the house,  

huffing for breath.  

March 21

The deep freeze has melted

into a month of mud,

clay that does not wash easily 

off rubber boots or dog’s paws.

The waiting has ended—

now the day divides evenly 

between dark and light.

We eat supper without lamps,

marveling at the simple thrill 

this brings once again.

April 9

The charm of goldfinches 

is invisible at first.

One lands on a wire

as another takes flight.

A slow gaze left to right

reveals constant motion,

touchdowns and takeoffs

in all directions,

choreography beyond 

what my eye can see.

I yield to mystery.