In My Pocket (manuscript excerpt)

Clip clop past the stalls
out into the moonlit night
up the road to the covered arena
the green street lamp
eerily illuminates 
the oak branches
as I look over my shoulder
for Icabod
who never comes

Riders working their steeds
in the arena
helmeted heads bob and glide
we ride under the lights
silently concentrating on the drills

Taps, presses, squeezes, light touches
nostrils puff and clear and heads drop low
as the equine muscles warm and stretch

Saddle leather creaks at the trot
small puffs of the dragged arena
give way under hoof
circles, diagonals, quarter lines
are drawn in dots


(Excerpt is 4 of 8 stanzas. Interested publishers, please inquire for the full manuscript).