Inventing a story with grass,
I find a young horse deep inside it.
I cannot nail wires around him:
My fence posts fail to be solid,
And he is free, strangely, without me.
With his head still browsing the greenness,
He walks slowly out of the pasture
To enter the sun of his story.
My mind freed of its own creature,
I find myself deep in my life
In a room with my child and my mother,
When I feel the sun climbing my shoulder
Change, to include a new horse.
--James Dickey
A bang, not a whimper
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