what ails yr horse?

ankle bones click,

meaning contact with earth con-

tinues— my already poor

eyesight, having

to feel my way; some-

times in plum light, i

only know what u tell me,

can u imagine?

all that trust, all that

what still

makes for majesty—

morning cool

approaching taste of fresh

mustards & a knife’s slice

if it were blue

& dewed—

thank u lucille,

embodying each

turn to speech of

what’s wet within us, how

a pony makes field remain

imprint i’ve brushed

flanks with;

found a door to eyes

approached in steep enough

assent. pet

the nose’s puzzle, nuzzled;

brushing down, brushing

all, the softnesses we do—