A column of lemon sky lit one hill.
Heaven to earth it divided the blue
and all the movement was downward.

Slimming runnels foraged
for a streambed in the bracken.
Rills of dirt slid down.

She picked her way downhill.
Burrs and stalks in the undergrowth
pricked and rasped her fetlocks.

Rocks dislodged tumbled.
As the declivity steepened
they fell headlong.

The mare without her rider
lay down in the valley of the valley.