wisps of horse hair and dry animal
toughness
we temper the reins
at a gallop
our sky is eroding
I was told
Dad’s not alive
our shame is contained
within a multitude
of spaces contained
within the body
after the rain
molded the last of the grain
what else were we to do
but wait
for the paycheck
remember you aren’t
floating
the saddle
is a part of the horse
the horse on the ground
the ground something
more stable
blablabla
I remember the vet
saying
rain rot
I remembered
Dad’s not alive
but what is?
a the potential for
deafening rocks
to break our trailhead
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