Saturday, February 5, 2011


"Like a rider on a steed that flies forward, we drop the reins before the infinite, we modern men, like semi-barbarians -- and reach our bliss only where we are most -- in danger." Nietzsche


When Daddy’s wheels glide off asphalt
onto dust ruts that connect
leg by leg at fence and cattle guard
I sit crusted in dirt and sweat.
He says idleness spoils a child.
Bend over and grab your ankles.
I will not flinch as the handle of his hoe
slices my thighs and back
like a straight wind off the pasture.
I am not there, but on the edge of a hill
eating dewberries, until my tongue is swollen.
A colt approaches with his head down.
I trace the blaze on his face
with a finger, circle the flesh of his nose
soft and white and lined in pink.


When a tree tumbles
the earth will absorb its weight
tension reverberates, then dissipates.
I _can_not_
absorb desire, born of him
hunger for hands with no callus
tolerate a heart
tempered in the city.
Shards of light cast
on sheets that swathed
the flat of his belly
when he slept beside me.
My palms search the bed
random as roses spill off the trellis
where lavender grew last year.


At dusk vellum drops
over the hide of my blue-roan appaloosa.
He becomes jade worn long
the abyss of sea.
His back is a wave that I ride
straddled in the trough between
swells of withers and croup.
When he breaks into sycamores
I drop the reins -- close my eyes
twist fingers into his mane
rest on the pulse of his neck.
This heart flutter, his body surge
a rush of wind through my hair
the froth and scent of horseflesh
wine to a mouth tired of water.

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