She is across the mesa,
learning to saddle up, mount up
and post the trot.
It’s what we don’t know
that frightens us.
For a time, there is
the death grip. For a time,
there’s forgetting to breathe.
But soon there’s the thrill
of learning to move
with another, the joy
of breathing in rhythm
with the stride.
I follow the skyline
to where she is,
wonder what planet
I’m using to triangulate
my wishes good night.
I, too, am learning
to hold on more loosely,
to breathe into these
new rhythms, chin up,
eyes on where we’re going,
a smile insisting on itself.