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Horse

What are you thinking of 
as I pass my fingers 
through your manes coarse wool? 
I take your cheek into my palm, 
you root my coat for food, 
shiver a little.

It is cold here, 
in the bare fields, under blank cloud. 
You wander between the stark wire 
bending to eat, running now 
and then. I would do the same 
removed from home and company, 
taking the warmth of stranger’s hands
light and hesitant, like the rain

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