Autumn’s Horses

I put my hand out, like a fire

yours is gentle, with that
tremulous shake

of fallen leaves
turning slowly
to the bronze of earth

beyond the dunes
of your shoulder
saw in the unevening sky

the roundness of your disapproval

afternoons as lithe as cats
I imagine    
you always have that face

a prosopon, de rigueur
downturned at a scrap of yellow

there are foals in autumn’s colours

the leavened wind
has an insistent touch
as soft and irrevocable as Midas

steam plumes their nostrils and furs their backs 
in their gait, unconstrained machineries

take sudden flight

(as you turn, come back inside)

the evening spills her horses

Sawdust horses

Pull at the reins of sleep
you curve away
caparisoned horses
jangling with 
a head thrown preen
motes and stars pinwheeling

I thought I had you
the circus brightness
of your smile
the acrobats of laughter

But, a rain dull echoing
of shod iron feet

On the roof
a mocking skeleton dancing

It is hard to know
if redoubts
are weak as second thoughts

The shapes you left in sawdust 
now uncertain