Spanish Mustangs Get Flash player
for Laura Meschio
The horses came while we were at the beach
and rummaged through our garbage cans like rats—
enormous, pregnant rats with dreadlocks, each
a sunspot on the intercoastal flats,
a blind spot to the hapless lumber truck
or S.U.V. The legendary breed
appeared and disappeared today. Our luck.
It slipped us, filly, foal and woolly steed,
to shift beyond the pastel afternoon
behind the Brew Thru and development,
to hoof the waterline of the lagoon
where sunset casts the due envelopment
of twilight on imaginary streams
that cut across the white sand of our dreams.
Corolla, NC, 1994
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