a garden growing in the distance

into a fenced pasture

she led me by the hand,

telling me in low whispers

i should do whatever she said,

whether in a rain storm or on her dried grass bed;

and when we got to the corral

she mounted a saddled horse.

i stood still

as her steed began kicking dirt on my face

& she handed me the reins and told me to pull hard,

and with all my strength i pulled

until dreams spilled out over my boots

and my eyes grew big.

i saw my youthful self throwing a ball

which a batter hit over the nearby fence

and she laughed as she ran down the third base line,

licking my face before she disappeared into the dugout!

she said i needed to release the reins but my hands hesitated,

so i sat on a stool next to the horse

from where i could hear her yelling at me.

what she was saying was no longer making much sense.

i thought she was poorly recalling poems by a Romanian writer

who once came to visit me, who reminded me of a saint for lost souls,

who wrote her poems by hand with clean sheets of paper,

all signed with her signature in blood,

and i liked the ones i remembered

while sitting next to the horse,

kicking dirt on my face.

when i let go and the horse bolted,

she jumped the fence.

i stood, grabbed the stool,

and walked toward a garden

growing in the distance.