Apache, the tanned horse we'd found,
had been lost from the grazing garden above the town.
We led him home, borrowed brushes,
neighbourly folk came with herbs in cooking pots
with their kindly tin wrapped remedies for wounds.
From our veranda we watched him graze in the moonlight
and in the quiet of the noise tonight
he must have slipped our gaze,
flicked the bolted gate
and then, again escaped!
From the telegraph poles, owls
in flight, we turned right to find him
on the silvery ribbon road
waiting by the forest of Eucalyptus.
You took his face, spoke his name, scolding
and stroking his nose. "He's well - he wants
company: Patch? Were you waiting for us?"
and taking his mane, you cartwheeled onto his back
like you should, a sound now, faster,
lighter, into the darkening tangles
of needles and the slow soft places of pine.
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