Fancy was my partner for 28 years.  This is a small tribute to the friend and coworker she was to me all those years.

I don’t know how to be me without her.

 

 

Buckskin Mare 

 

The fountain of my youth

grew old— whiskers grayed,

back swayed, her rippling muscles

shriveled beneath my hands.

Still, she wanted to go

wherever I led her,

to serve what she could

to extend forever a boyhood

into green grass and wind

that twirled in her mane.

She had been the whetstone

to my dull blade,

with beauty sharpening me skyward—

with silence rescued—

with brown eyes

spoke truths, shunned lies.

Cradled my babies on that broad back,

never bucked, never sulled,

never shirked a chance to make tracks.

 

How do I say thank you?

I’ll stand around and cry

like a family member died,

lay you under cottonwood trees,

your head west to a rain cloud’s breeze,

leave sweet feed and recall your breath,

I’ll look for you at my death.