I once rode a horse

in the woods

off Hidden Valley Road.

I was maybe sixteen.

There was a gray stable

in the woods,

the trees wore green and yellow leaves,

birdsong echoed in clammy air.

My horse stood tall and brown.

I settled my hands around her neck

and she led me

with quiet confidence.

There was a sway

as she took me

along earthen trails.

It felt like we could go anywhere

in this lonely world.

Why do I hold onto this

memory

of Hidden Valley road?

I’m still trying,

it’s teaching me something.

Heather Sager

I’m in a dark labyrinth,

following the echoing footsteps

of a beloved,

long vanished by time.

I’m in a warm enclosure,

being watched by a jaguar

that’s pacing with eyes agleam,

and I notice the smell of straw.

Leaning in the shadows

under the stairs,

I hear the notes

of unspooling melody

from a Spanish guitar.

On a day blue and sparkling,

I’m standing on a beach,

gazing at a shell

over the white sands.

Heather Sager