Tangerine fur on Great White full of
steamed energy
at three still young
bouncing, ready for the mocker who waits on spring,
three snowfalls in a row
with smoked mist rising
yellow rolling buses on the road beyond in slush
chilled No-Name Creek
morn of the horse
searching the pasture
for new fescue after winter of teases, winter of curling by
tall fires,
winter of silly slides down sloped ridges passing black
birds
winking
tossing sweet balls of cream’d white
to forget the chill
to seek green tips ‘mongst flakes
to think of the next, not the then, and swim in softness
through the mist.
