Yearlings


we were running in the evening air

the top of the hill our finish line
both of us panting at the end
she so near to me I tingled
as a mist of breath caressed my cheek
this morning boys jog in the park
a tall girl swings on a low tree branch
yearlings        faces not yet marked
they feel the sunlight on their face
dampness of the still-wet grass
later we were together        close
in the deepest corner of the empty barn
the scents of hair and skin and earth
all the many colors
                        of the end

                                    and the beginning



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