EXCERPT (one of four poems)

NOTES ON AGING

Beneath me he slows, halts,
cocks a hind leg and dozes.
Have I always been on his back? I wonder
what he dreams, spotted skin twitching,
metal shoes sinking in old sand

I scan my hands for age spots,
find three and panic. I can't blame
the sun, I'm sure not Appaloosa.
Bridle leather eventually rots;
no matter how much oil I rub,
every stitch frays.

He kicks at the fence. I weep for no good
reason. Moons replace each other,
snakes sleep out the season.
Oaks leaf out, green under the bulldozer.
Rolled oats glisten in the bucket
telling you again
to relish the run,
keep charging those fences.
Molasses is a first kiss.
Dream about it for fifty years,
you grow wise.