Sway

On a dry path
below the sun's slow climb
toward the hottest acre of sky,
you pass the crackling grass
and purple thistles,

scuff low clouds of dust
along yesterday's trail of hooves.
You bring him to a vein of silver
disappearing in this arid year.
He is so much bigger

and you smooth a hand
across the warm shoulder, rough mane,
tug the worn halter down.
No pleading, no prayer
will move him.

You can do nothing more
than kneel on the bank,
plunge your own face,
open your throat
to the shock and relief.