Coyote poem II

The horse's panting breath
sounds heavy in desert heat
in the white woodrailed
training arena.

The copperhaired woman's
blue jeaned hips roll easy
in the saddle above
the horse's fluid stride
as she talks and whispers
prodding it through
its learning paces.

She's knotted her white shirt
below her breasts
baring her tanned belly
and puffs of dust rise
with each hoofstep until
the haze hangs
in the still air
and mixes
with her sweat
and the horse's,
but her intent green eyes
remain cool and absorbed.

Only occasionally
do they flick aware
through air dizzy with heat
and bright searing sun
to the cactussed hillside
where he is nearly hidden
in the afternoon shade
of a rough lumber snow fence,
where he pants, openmouthed
seems to grin to himself
at some remembered joke,
his pupils tiny black stars
in the yellow wild swirl
of his watching eyes.