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 for a moment’s surprise

then turned away

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, now caught in the dandelions

skinny legs shifting through the petals

lacy wings lifting

wafting in a rainbow arch

her head swings to his airy cadence

heavy hoofs twist in a sideways dance

as he 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 saw through daggered leaves

and she tries to join in with her cumbersome hoofs

but it soars away.

Baffled, she trembles, thunders through thistle

veers back, bewildered

whinnying, waiting.

And they told me horses play with balls

while hers, the size of an unwanted moon

lies inanimate at the edge of the field.