Hay, and a clean stall
And ivy on a garden wall
And a sign saying Sold
And an old coat
For the bad cold

I believe in you
Do you believe in me?
What do you want to do?
Are we leaving the city?

On the black road
Through the gold fields
While the fields are plowed
Towards what we are allowed..

The bridle bends in idle hands
And slows your canter to a trot
We mean to stop, in increments, but can’t commit
We post and sit, in impotence:
The harder you hit, the deeper the dent
We seek our name
We seek our fame, and our credentials
(Paned in glass, trained to master incidentals)
Bleach our collar, leach our dollar from our cents:
The longer you live, the higher the rent
Beneath the pale sky
Beside the red barn
Below the white clouds
Is all we are allowed
Here, the light will seep
And the scythe will reap
And spirit will rend, in counting toward the end

In December of that year
The word came down that she was here
The days grew shorter
I was sure, if she came 'round
I’d hold my ground. I'd endure
But they'd alluded to a change
That came to pass
And Spring, deranged
Weeping grass and sleepless
Broke herself upon my windowglass

And I could barely breathe, for seeing
All the splintered light that leaked her fissures
Fleeing, launched in flight:
Unstaunched daylight, brightly bleeding
Bleached the night with dawn, deleting

In that high sun
After our good run
When the spirit bends
Beneath knowing it must end
And that is all I want here:
To draw my gaunt spirit to bow
Beneath what I am allowed
Beneath what I am allowed