Zaran (for Alice Walker)

When we first moved here there were two of them - beautiful white horses with a kind of smoky look. Arabians, with huge, firm haunches and a deeply masculine mien, like athletes with oiled muscles. Zaran and Zarif: It took me a while to learn their names. Sometimes they stood by the side of the fence and snorted while I passed, friendly snorts, their huge faces leaning over the wire. Sometimes they'd gallop through the field, their heads and tails high and proud, like thunder, like a roaring waterfall, like tap dancers on drums. Then Zarif died. He caught some disease, or perhaps it was food poisoning. In any case, a few days later, he was dead.