by Pavel Chichikov
Horses in the field, horses, a red sun falling
An orchard of apples, an orchard of pears
Folds the little herd
A cove of trees, the field's dark double border
The remnant of a planting grows
Four acres square
The Lord goes in and out among the shadows
Honoring the horses and the plump full trees
The four square field
Watching through a lid of leaves, two fallen souls –
See the horses pulling grass with bended heads
And the great thing moving
This is an empty myth, says one soul to another
A fable made for children, nothing there
Except an apple orchard and some golden pears
And as for horses those are broken sticks and shadows
And as for something great that walks
It is long sunlight in the meadow
Here I see brown apples of forbearance, poverty –
But no the other says, I seem to smell and taste
The fruit of prophecy
And as for yellow pears they are the sweetest gold
Of suns that will not burn away
Until the sky is old
And as for gentle horses they are not phantom frail – But living graze among the ripest dreams
To eat the grass that will not fail
And as for One who walks among them see
He is the guardian and maker of these solid things,
Of such as we
But why have we been exiled from this quiet place?
Exiled we are not if we walk lovingly –
It will not be effaced
None of us can step as softly as these figures go
Yet they are massier than we –
My friend, we are the shadows now
By those lengthy shadows we are drawn and found
As the holy horses graze
On the holy ground
Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.
