The hillside was blocked
with pens, horses of other colors
five or six to a pen,
and one long fenced strip
from the base of the hill up,
with dark brown horses flank to flank
but their necks craning over
each other's backs.
They were looking towards
the dip at the top of the hill,
and the stream running through it.
They were looking at what
was on the other side,
which was my mother,
whom I had just walked over the bridge.