The fowls speak and sing, settling for the night.
The mare shifts in the bedding.
In her womb her foal sleeps and grows,
within and within and within. Her jaw grinds,
meditative in the fragrance of timothy.
Soon now my own rest will come.
The silent river flows on in the dusk, miles and miles.
Outside the walls and on the roof and in the woods
the cold rain falls.