Tonight my memory is
a palomino exuberantly hooved
in an alpine meadow.
I ride the horse bareback
and fall off, replacing air
in lungs with fear,
pushing fear out then inhaling
again. I hold out
a sugar-cube on a flat palm
for my memory,
which nuzzles with a soft
gray mouth, nips
the cube, leaves lovely
equine slobber. The tail flicks out
at a fat fly, makes broom sounds.
Sunlight, the old sheriff, jumps
up on my memory,
and everything goes golden,
gathers
into a bright badge of
summer.
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