Down Unwin's Track

Alison Brackenbury

And the rain stopped. And the sky spun 

 past the hills' flush of winter corn. 

 The mare strode out as though still young. 

You walked. I almost said, last year 

 I saw a hare run with her young 

 just past the broken wall, just here. 

Two flew in circles. First, one rose 

 upon its great back legs. It boxed 

 at air. The second flinched, then rose. 

England has blackbirds, mice. To find 

 these strong black shapes makes the heart race 

 as barley under icy wind. 

Boxing is courtship, failed. One broke, 

 tore past us to the rough safe hedge. 

 She crossed the sun. Her colours woke, 

ears black, back russet, earth new-laid. 

 Her legs stretched straight. The late showers made 

 bright water fly from every blade.