For Nicholai

As the sun buried its face in the haze
And the autumn sky turned ash-gray
Mom shushed me from awkward angles
And I crumpled like a discarded tissue
To the cold grit on the burned tar
Tail lights blinked red as funeral eyes
His worn halter empty but warm
Two carrots still in my pocket
An unfamiliar whinny called out
And I choked on the metal of my tears

Salamander

Salamander

The children running through the field
Didn't see me hiding in the leaf litter underfoot,
So a boy witha tattered shoelace trod on my tail
And it feels
    a little
kinked now.
I sought out the solace and safety of stone, but
The lovely damp chill beneath a worn cobble
Was concussed by a clatter, a snare drum, a clack
As more stones bombarded those above me
So loud I
    can hardly
think now.
I wriggle and worm and burrow beneath a slab
And remind myself that it is only Spring
And when the children are done picking rocks
This will again be my fortress, not just their rock pile.