They whinny and circle like their world
Is ending whenever we take him out
For a stroll. He doesn't even notice.
He's so fixed on the horizon of grass
Such female companionship is endured
With the same stoic mien as his
Fetlock inflammation.
But Gigi in this case is despondent,
Her neighs are so majestically dejected.
Even Echo and Chocolate Chip
Glare at her, why the boy?
What is it about men?
They don't even do anything,
Their promise is always more real
Than their fur and foot reality.
The horsewomen are the same way,
Saying what they mean to men
Who don't hear them. They are counting
The moments down before
They get to taste the grass
Or watch the football game
Or cap the moon-lit evening.
There's no let up to the bellowing,
Like any attention at all and she
Is seen and heard and known.
The horsewoman has so many questions
For the vet, and the answers are never enough.
The horseman at this quietly withdraws.
He takes the Frisian deep onto the trail
To the top of the mountain, to that particular
View, that particular mix of breezes
Where dreaming can come,
The mystical state of emptiness,
Away from all obstructions
To the lonely call of freedom.
