Landscape with Horse Named Popcorn

The hummingbird hovers over bougainvillea, darting in and out   

of blossoms as the bride throws   

her corset among laughter and waving hands. Seeing you, glass in hand, sunlight   

piercing the punch bowl’s crystal, I remember   

the horse, an Appaloosa, the white and gray markings   

like clouds, cumulus, one   

later on his grave, the 2X4 cross with name   

above a swell of land that could bring   

a man to his knees,   

or make him look up at fumbling shapes, cotton-fumed   

and slow. I can hear the screeching   

still. The colt had grabbed a turkey nesting in scrub oak, and prancing,   

spray of blood—until beyond adrenaline we began laughing,

as laughing now, brushing confetti away, you hand   

the bride flowers, narcissi, their green throats pushing up   

from wet stones in a jar.