They told me horses play with balls

kick them, chase them

so I gave my horse a white one the size of her thighs

rolled it over the rye towards her

she raised her head in a moment’s surprise,

then turned away.

It lay the size of an unwanted moon

inanimate at the edge of the field

while she buried her nose in the tufts and tussocks

for an unlikely partner couched in the clover

weaving through the flower heads:

a Daddy Long Legs caught in the dandelions

skinny legs shifting through the petals

lacy wings lifting, wafting in a rainbow arch.

My horse’s head swings watching its airy cadence

hoofs twisting following its dance

as it drifts then slides, skims over a knoll,

knits through turf to where nettles stand

like dwarfed trees erect on a vast plain

those spindlespun legs sawing through leaves

and she tries to join in with her hefty hoofs

and it soars away.

Baffled, she trembles, thunders through thistle,

veers back, lifts her head, whinnying,

waiting for her vanished friend.

while they tell me horses play with balls.