Black Walnut Form
by Angie Macri
After the flood, the horse was found strung
at the top of the trees. Men, twenty or more, gathered
underneath for a photograph. From afar
it looked as if the horse had been caught
climbing hand over foot as only a man could move
or had been drawn by a child into kneeling.
The organ was found upright in a field of last year’s corn,
keys still in their bed, long as teeth. Give
us a song then, the men said to the child, who thought
of the horse all along, even years
after the high water was long gone. It kneeled
in the treetops until they cut it down.