Yarrow House

I Used to Dream

I’m riding over endless plains
on my palomino bay roan mare.
She never fails me.
She scents me in the dark.
She comes when I whistle and takes me away.
We're riding to the rescue of the ranch house
warning them
of flash floods, ten foot waves
roaring behinds us.
We vanish before they know who we are,
my horse and I.
They will wonder.
We'll grow a legend.
The wind of our riding
throws my long free hair
over my shoulders, and I sing
for the waking world as the sun rises.

Published in The Immigrant, Court Street Press, (1984).

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Onetime reproduction for non-resale purposes permitted by the author with the following credit line: by J Yarrow