Capture of the Man-Eating Mares

Kay Cotton

When I crossed the field

to pick blackberries in the marshes

the horses came at me by the sea,

baring their teeth, reared over me,

slicing the air with iron hooves.

Fear reeks in my dreams, night and day.

This is my real task: to smile

as I exercise control over thoughts

that allow foreign horses free reign.

To breathe gently up their noses.

'I come forth and from the plane of mind, I rule'