Escape
Braced against the wood post,
I watch the horses gallop out of the barn,
their buckskin legs beating the ground
like fists into dough, their slick bodies
bustling toward the corner of the field
where the fence has begun
to rot, is almost jumpable. At the rails
they snort but do not attempt the last
long stride into the pines. Only their eyes
run out over the distant grasses
the way my mother’s ran out the kitchen window
those mornings they searched
for something else
beyond us playing in the yard.