"Horses" by Jim Harrison

Faith. Katya Hannula

In truth I am puzzled most in life

by nine horses.

I’ve been watching them for eleven weeks

in a pasture near Melrose.

Two are on one side of the fence and seven

on the other side.

They stare at one another from the same places

hours and hours each day.

This is another unanswerable question

to haunt us with the ordinary.

They have to be talking to one another

in a language without a voice.

Maybe they are speaking the wordless talk of lovers,

sullen, melancholy, jubilant.

Linguists say that language comes after music

and we sang nonsense syllables

before we invented a rational speech

to order our days.

We live far out in the country where I hear

creature voices night and day.

Like us they are talking about their lives

on this brief visit to earth.

In truth each day is a universe in which

we are tangled in the light of stars.

Stop a moment. Think about these horses

in their sweet-smelling silence.

"Horses" by Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason. © Copper Canyon Press, 2011.

A Toast To the Trout

On a cold, windy afternoon I took an end-of-the-year drive. I decided to head up the road that has taken me to Trout Lake so many times.

It was a leisurely drive, with many stops to enjoy the sights. I got as far as Fish Lake where I decided to leave Trout Lake for another day. Like saving a present to open later.

The trout up there are tucked in under the ice. So here's a toast to you, Trout, for a Happy New Year and a safe winter. See you, Spring 2015.

"A Blessing" by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

"A Blessing," by James Wright, from Above the River: The Complete Poems and Selected Prose. ©Wesleyan University Press, 1990.