spooked mustang shys and backs in a close-walled canyon stirrups banging on kettledrum ribs half-sat on his haunches like a pony at the rodeo he listens with both ears one pricked and one curled for a Presence in afternoon shadow, a god under water: impenetrable, salt-scummed pricking fingers of greasewood prod him, snorting, out through stagnant pools toward arms of the sun ~ his instinct to keep moving for in the country of his experience where there is water and shade overhang ~ in each green temptation a spirit of malice lives © 1990 by Beth Stevens Background courtesy of Night Owl MacMerlin

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