Image:  Open Palm by Amoret

Ehwaz/The Horse
by Amoret BriarRose

I approach her slowly,
bit of apple in my hand, hoping to
coax her? Befriend her? I’m not sure either is truly possible.
I know in my heart: she is a wild thing
though the path near the fence is deep and worn
and her warm breath fogs the air as her teeth
gingerly grab sweetness from my open palm,
her muzzle soft, pliant.
Her eyes betray her.