She glowed like sapphire,
like worm sweat.
You sliced

the horse's eyes

with a thumbnail

White blood
went like blackbirds
in the night.
You held on tight

and let her bearings
form.
What needed you
now, you hushed it
with your hand,

spoke to it soft,
whispered steady,
voice sturdy

as a rich man
in a suit, in a rain.
- from Logic of Rawhide, Lucas Farrell