He found the other name last night pale peach pearl moon rising between lilac soft slate clouds broke into a pure black sky awed the stars stood still. That woman from his youth woke him in his dreams again sleeping between the paddocks not noticing the ground she was talking to him as he woke, grey horse slips through the un-hitched gate, eased back he didn't even need to get up, he didn't even need to use one hand, its stable mate black head beneath the rails tried to bite him so he slapped it. He thought now I have to get up and fix that gate. She continued talking to him. He couldn't see her. She was going on about the new girl, how well she rode, how much she reminded her to herself, how if she ever had a daughter she'd like a daughter to be like that. Getting up, off the ground he rises, wakes up to sometime in the night. That old grey horse wily little Arab, wild little prick ran off on him once, had to walk for miles. Almost killed her more than once, rearing backwards down the ravine, exploding on the mountain goat trail hardly wide enough for a sane creature. Eventually each gave the other up him, her, the horse. In the still sleeping house he stood dark mirror windows glowing cigarette for company. He thought of his own daughter, hope she'll like to ride, hope she's like her mother, hope she'll just be healthy. Wisely resisted temptation to wake his wife and tell her.
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