Somewhere a chestnut horse
plods along a leafy trail.
His steady rider
also nods. They move as one
one bent unit
rolling like a song
up and down the shifting rays.
They are off
to find another place,
humming, easy as summer.
It may seem
they 've left me here,
amid the noise and street-scapes
but in the airborne scatter of the song
I am riding with them.
When we get there,
there will be
apple trees in hot September
shedding for us-the horse, the rider and for me.
The juice will slake our thirst.
The drenching sun
will slide to four o'clock
as quick with joy and sweat
we three mount up
and find the trail again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem