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Girl and Pony

Facing the sun, bright with intention,
she tugs him toward her hand
with a gentleness that belies
the strain, which shows in how
he is bent her way, each wisp
of mane tousled toward her hand,
each resisting muscle taut
with her persuasion.

I wonder how the geese, the pond, the trees
go about their business, unfascinated
by the drama of the pony's slow decision
to let her urgent sun-blind smile
seem to fool him into trusting more
than what her hand offers?

Between them is a craving for deeper
intimacy, a taming that will not
annihilate wildness, being each other's,
but remaining each other, a dream
each shares and distrusts,

ancient magic of virgin and unicorn,
as unreal as my knowledge
that I have seen before the enchanted sky
that fills that pond and will someday
find it again.

Dean Blehert

Last Updated: October 6, 2002

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