Imagine horses at night,

their terrible heat.

A field torn open by hooves.


Or slumbering in a great circle. Hair.

Haunch. Lilacs moaning in the dark.


Fires moaning in the dark.

Morning gropes like a mound of hands.

A bone breaks and refuses to be set.


Come down. The trees smell like horses the hills

smell like horses.


Their bellies steaming in the black.

Their hooves sharp as teeth.


What is forgotten was never

but twists like a pinned snake.

Graves torn open by horses.


Come down.

Wash yourself in oil.

Heave his bones onto the pyre.

The earth is damp and sweet.

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