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Young's Farm

This painting was stolen from an upscale furniture store where it and a number of other paintings were on display. Fortunately, the insurance company covered the wholesale cost. I later painted "Young's Farm, Revisited" without the horses.

The sky's blue is as deep,
the tree's gold as vibrant,
the raw earth's motley as rich
as the absence of interest pretended
by two dawn-grey horses,

whose real indifference is quiet
only because it is unspeakable,
which is why horses don't talk,
having nothing else to say to us.

This painting's dappled wealth
is the measure of the indifference
of the horses to it, to all but the
horsiest of hoof-nibbling, tail-switching,
chomping, twitching, standing on four hooves,
and thinking no thoughts or thoughts
one thinks only on four hooves,

including the thought of our watching them,
a thought in which we would not recognize
ourselves, a wary thought, hidden behind
one casual, calculating eye, dulled by device,
one half-turned ear,

for despite millennia of being utile
or ornamental parts of human scenes,
these horses are a pale intention
not to be here for us, to become instead
horse-shaped holes in autumn, into which,

glozing over flocks of gold leaves,
dusty rose spots of light
on the bole, we slip.

Dean Blehert

Last Updated: October 6, 2002

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