Betwixt

Turning to find comfort
she folds a pillow and
resists the pressing
urge
to lie
while
lying
next to him.

She rests in the valley
between resolution and sleep
counting horses whose thunderous
hooves drown out the
gee and haw of the driver.

Exposed in the open air of
the half-dream carriage,
she shivers and
pulls the blankets
to her chin.

He pulls her closer.
Now, too warm,
all she can do is
wait for the mourning.
Closing her eyes,
she conjures up the steeds.