Beneath The Horses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Grasses sweating beneath horses
That are standing asleep the night in my father’s
Pasture
My son’s grandparents having irrigated this day
On the other side of the planet:
Horses better known and
Better loved than me
Beneath alligator oak on the verge of the
Pasture,
Fat bellies painted by stolen moon light,
And about them dancing
Along the borders of the hill hides,
Pretending to crush the last of the misplaced
Arrowheads into diamonds,
Coyotes and elk
With minds constructed the same as
Peach pits—
And I am but the boy drinking the bottle
His feet dangling at the end of the house
At the edge of all of this,
somehow seeing a strange movement
Repeated,
Like a wild merry go round—
Like a card game in the hands of the elements.