I could bring you back but the wind
no longer lifts your mane.
Your eyes look into mine, not into infinity.
You walk freely, not stiffly and in pain.
We could gallop across the meadow,
your power rising through me. I listen
to you crunch your grain, grind your hay.
I breathe in your sweet breath, kiss your soft nose.
I breath in your sweet breath,
kiss your soft nose. I listen to you crunch
your grain, grind your hay. We could gallop
across the meadow, your power rising through me.
Your eyes look into mine, not into infinity.
You walk freely, not stiffly and in pain.
If I could bring you back,
the wind no longer lifts your mane.
The Piker Press
2024
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The Piker Press
2024
