Sunday, April 22, 2012

Horse's Knees, after reading Points of the Horse


Stifle it’s called,
above the fetlock
and pastern.
The knees of Pleasure –
by now I call her Baby and there are no corners –
go forward and back,
and farrier says,
You must brush her this way,
In case she kicks.

Words of Old English
and Old French,
music to lover of
old words.
Coronet, croup, withers, brisket, ergot, forelock, bulb.

Bulb is best descriptive – softly
lifting her heel (no kicking),
softly nuzzling bent of nose,
looking into henna eyes looking back at me.
Took about a day
to fathom each other.
Took two weeks
for Baby to joke,
biting limb off  favored cherry tree,
carting off down the deep pasture.

Pastern is another word of
Old French.
Bern is, too, where the Woods materna left, horseback to ship. 
It’s quiet on the blue land
(except for Great White, who retrieved strength of limb).
It’s Baby, hock/cannon/muzzle/crest,
who has ministered
here.
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