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).

The Owls

At night
the owls call
from one to another

one above
here on Birch Street
calls to the other
on Cedar Street
who relays
the message to
another
on Elm Street

and we listen
as they talk
in soothing hoots

the message
is not for us

but it sounds
old
earnest
persistent
patient

as the cold air
prompts us
back
indoors

onward
they call
to one another

solitary raptors
reaching out
into the quietof the night.