Nuzzle Into the World
Love has a secret. It cannot be mistaken
for anything else: nuzzling, feeding a horse
some carrots, fresh from the fields.
Grooming, stroking with a brush,
cooling off the horse, talking to it
in a slow, easing-down way.
Love cannot be rushed. It must build over time:
Buttercups littering the uncut fields,
a softness that cannot be fenced in.
Love stares back, eye to eye, never turning away.
There are questions endless as grass.
I wonder if the horse sees the world the same way—
if his world gentles—or if it strains,
tugging a plow—or gallops?
I wonder if the quiet moments enter him, too—
a quiet you can slowly peel
like an apple in one red spiral. A muzzle-in quiet
we all might enter.
I feed you this story like a carrot, feel your
shoulder against me. I brush your hair,
the world slowing to a gentle trot.
Lean into that quiet—soft endless grass,
hum of silence—lean into that.
Feel how quiet the quiet can be.
Editor’s Note: The imagery of this poem is quiet and contemplative and necessary.