Argentine Horses

I hear teeth tear at
alfalfa. The horses ravage field after field
to roots & earth.

Cattle egrets forage
near hooves, perambulate spines. Frolicking
heads jerk, long necks twine.

I watch & listen to
hot breath exhaled through nostrils
like doves rowing through air.

Unbridled inside
the electric wire, one horse idles toward me:
ivory socks & blaze.

Her soon-to-be-born
distends her torso down & sideways.
I measure leg bones.

She reaches for me
hikes her nose to my outstretched fingers
angles cheek to my palm.

Tendering mare's velvet
she scares me with strength & mass, all
I don't know of horses.

Watching me, repeatedly
she blows —her call, my unschooled response:
Are you saying hello?

I answer her back
while weeding my vegetable rows:
Hola, pregnant caballo

knowing today or tomorrow
the herd will be shifted to some far meadow:
I won't see the birth.

Spring

Winter simply ends as the ill-mannered
Zonda wind arrives. Now budding willows
sway red, thorn trees green, succulents
polka-dot yellow, irises three to a spike
purple & white.
                        Wearing but a T-shirt
& gardening shorts, I dig through frost-scarred beds
fork up mint, transplant curry, crewcut
cold-browned stems of oregano, sage.
Seeds await in multi-colored packets —
passion fruit
                   rhubarb, papaya, artichoke
cucumber, eggplant, zucchini, carrot & kale
lettuce & beans, echinacia, beet & tomato.
Strong walls will rise in the east of bricks
& cement to stymie ill winds from tearing
young leaves, downing stakes.
                                               Possibly
wild hares will come to graze.