During the night, horses passed close to our parked van. Inside I woke cold under the sleeping bag, hearing their heavy sway, the gravel harsh under their hooves as they moved off down the bank to the river. You slept on, though maybe in your dream you felt them enter our life just long enough to cause that slight stirring, a small spasm in your limbs and then a sigh so quiet, so close to being nothing but the next breath, I could believe you never guessed how those huge animals broke out of the dark and came toward us. Or how afraid I was before I understood what they were—only horses, not anything that would hurt us. The next morning I watched you at the edge of the river washing your face, your bare chest beaded with bright water, and knew how much we needed this, the day ahead with its calm lake we would swim in, naked, able to touch again. You were so beautiful. And I thought the marriage might never end.© Kim Addonizio
from The Philosopher's Club (BOA Editons, 1994)