on the back road
a swaybacked chestnut mare
being led trustingly
into September
hanging out together
on the clothesline in a late
dapple of sun, a gathering
of t-shirts (or whatever
the collective noun)—
three pink, one gray
some headed back to school
and others leaving work
after thirty-six years,
this last Tuesday of summer
as if another tide
has turned, the light
withdrawing now
from the long slip of sand
where we have walked
these months, as if
not to return
—Christie
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