In My Pocket

Feed me.
Nourish the soul that was given to this body
and move me from this languid pool
of dark water and a mind that hides in fear.

Let the horses of your heart
nuzzle my hand
coaxing the sweetness
into spaces I have forgotten.

I hear the beating of hooves of knowledge
gallop to the edges of the fields
where poems and purple clover
gather in the cool shade.

I will walk slowly
so as not to panic the beauty
into running.
There is a single apple cut
and waiting
in my pocket.