Horse and Bird

He is there by the pond
where the dark clay loves
his hooves’ cleaving,
seeing reflected on the water’s calm
the bird sweep low, dip wing
and seem to dive into his head
as he drinks of the sky
rippling with circles.
Trembling his length
in a smooth quake of flesh,
he lifts his right eye
toward the open field, rears up
and turns, exploding into a run,
not knowing he can’t fly.