I wrote of horses

and the smell of grain, a full-bodied musk

dull as sweaty leather saddles

but tantalizing as the taste of grass, fresh and

sharply saccharine.

lingering in a field of dry dirt,

belly bared to the sun, my fingers entwined

with a tangled mane and my face

buried in fuzzy, dusty

warmth,

I remember how the heat permeated my body,

passed into the ground, and from there

drifted towards a ruddy horizon, fusing

the smells and the tastes and the touch

into an achingly tangible

intuition.