Come You White Mare, Come Striding

In the hour before birds
In the naming of a few stars
In a few leaves fallen
In ash, ember, Come—
In the splick, splick of a water trough
For in this late month—
I hear so clearly for the first time
Crickets, the weeds—
In mist seeping in from the river
In field, in bone
You white mare
In rain that peens a curved world flat—
Shadow among shadows
Among voices, Come—
Through every weather between us
Come O come you white mare
Come thunder, come silent
Come peal, come sweep, come striding

Kevin Goodan
Come You White Mare, Come Striding is reprinted from In The Ghost-House Acquainted (Alice James Books, 2004).