Beyond Blossoms, For James Wright - Reprise With Changes Poem by Warren Falcon

'too full of blossom and green light to care'... 'the light breeze moves me to caress' - James Wright

If you were present, I too would
speak of an encounter upon a
hill in the southern part of France,
Monthaut, its dilapidated church
without knees, sun descending
over the lower slopes of the Pyrenees -

From the shaded grove downhill
at least twenty horses hasten
towards me. I sense them before
they materialize, hooves ripping
through soil and grass in their
frenzied ascent up the steep
incline, arriving like exhilarated
birds, hindquarters trembling,
moist from late-summer warmth.

Their tender noses nudge my hands,
their chests apply unyielding pressure
against barbed wire. They offer themselves
to me, their sinewy necks extend heads
bowing bashfully, not without some blood -

I reflect on you now as I did then,
recalling our resounding lungs in
rich shared air, intertwined aromas
of earth, mane, those sweet pastures,
and the constricting thorn where
they stamped, quivering.

No poetry found here, Esteemed Master;
merely a factual account,

of how it all fractures haphazardly
amidst monotony, a somber hammock
resistant to being swayed on a somber day.

Something exists here that
you already comprehend,
but if forgetfulness persists
on the opposite side of the
fence where you now reside,
I now serve as a reminder.

My hands tenderly caress
echoing equine elegance.
Within their eyes, I can see
in that way of all breezes
finally where you departed.


***
The poem above is a response to James Wright's poem, The Blessing published below, as well as to Wright's impact upon me and my own poems:

The Blessing

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota,
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more, they begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.