A Sestina for Clover

Away with bit and bridle set
across the springy autumn leaves
We haven't hit the meadow, yet
the time is now: the cold air weaves
itself into the sad regrets
a message i cannot perceive

Fetlock bare a wound received
we rest until the bleeding sets
The careless run not to regret,
The feckless sun about to leave
behind our side to wend and weave
Forgetting where it must go yet.

And have you seen the mountains yet?
With liquid eyes the scene received
As tales into your ear I weave
While low into your neck I set
and swinging over take my leave,
and nothing stays but grim regret

as looking back will stoke regrets
No rise to hide your figure yet.
And blowing brash with autumn leaves
the wind picks up the scent received
your nostrils flare and hind feet set
as blood and topsoil interweave

For all the tales that wise men weave
But none can capture the regret
of one with heart and mind upset
by things he cannot fathom yet.
A bullet in the heart received
and by that hole your spirit leaves

Say not that you cannot believe
that heart of man and horse do weave
a fabric strong as one received
at Christmastime when one regrets
the gifts he has not given yet,
the broken down erector set.

To weave a bond in granite set
A man believes a horse and yet
to end receives naught but regret