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.