A horse in the dark

by Meirion Jordan

A horse in the dark

Quiet, quiet: do not dream

it is the owl parting fronds

of starlight, the water

muttering in abandoned mines.


It is the stillness falling

and pooling, drop

after drop,


it is the clouds spooling past on wires.


Soon you will hear oaks

pushing their mouths to the soil's tap,

the rushes drinking

far down the hill.


The lidless quartz blinks

at the snap of a twig's shadow;


a nothing so breathless.

It champs at a giant sky.

© Meirion Jordan