I travel north
over the wash
to see the mare
that lives on a
thin angle of
grass and rag, wild
cousin of the
South Downs filly
back home, whose lithe
body owns all
acres to own.

I travel north
over the wash
to see the pie-
bald foal dancing
round its mother’s
tether, tangled
fetlocks gleaming
with mud and gold.

 

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Image: Chris Newman

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