The land belongs to no one
if not to us.
We ride deep into the mahoganies
and out to a valley splashed with royal palms,
through a tangle of coffee trees,
across the river and
up the stones to the mountain peak.
Beneath me the mare stumbles and
I touch her neck
moist with the warm sweat of our journey.
The animal reminds me
I am not traveling along a picture frame;
I am awake and
the rhythmic motion of her trot
caresses my thighs.
We return slowly to the stalls
listening to the tired hoofs on the stones.
I hear his voice singing of
coffee drops falling from the skies.
We are together and
the sun has finally set
for the first time.
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