Mend

The weeds wave so politely at me,
sunglasses between my eyes,
and them and this whole landscape
we remain in for the moment now.
She shakes me awake in the red light
of the morning and I start my old car
under gray moon and a dark blue
stretch of sky.

The world uses me correctly
these last few months
keeping me far out
in some brown field
connecting wire fences
knocked down by the wind
together again.

I see a foal break through the tree line
maybe eighty yards away,
it’s hooves still soft and pink
and barely even formed.
It neighs and shakes its matted mane
confused how it wound up here,
with some strange man
in a long coat and an old hat
worn to hide his eyes
in shadow.