On A Bareback Horse
Labels:
naquillity,
on a bareback horse,
poesaics,
poetry postcard
·
I watch her wake
Into splintered windcolors.
Memory ends at the barn.
She screams white
Into pale, bruised greens
And trunks four hoof beats
Inside her surging head.
On a bareback horse
I watch her wake.
On A Bareback Horse was written for a Poetry Postcard project in August.
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