Patrick Cotter


He bastes his favourite tree at night
with headlights. The leaves lap up
the Toyota beams. It will flower soon
just for him. His stallion will be garlanded
early. Bridled with blossom of chestnut,
fragrant with sweet scent. The horse’s mane
matches his lover’s in length and russet hue.
He stares with pursed lips from the parked
Prius, into the night over the beams, as if
into the future when life has settled like a hoof
and the years have already brought all the past can hold.


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