MARY OLIVER
403
TWO HORSES
The horses Jack and Racket have gone down into the Elysian
Fields.
It is a world without fences.
The creeks never run dry
But splash and bubble over stones rubbed
Bright as silver.
Jack and Racket
Bend their long necks down
And, drinking, become young again.
Their bones vanish back inside the good shapes
Of Shire and Appaloosa.
Of course, life isn't like this.
Life is two graves big as cellar holes
At the foot of the north meadow,
Covered with stones.
Which is why, this morning,
I wind around my fingers a few
Long hairs caught in the gate latch
And inhale their salty fragrance,
And why I imagine in a far pasture two dappled
Giants lipping lazily
Apples as they fall from the everbearing trees.
