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
