seven horses dead in 10 days, track dirt still
painting damp mouths and eyes that will
never start again and here we are with
our feet kicking up ground and orange light
staining like iodine on skin and we never
think to worry it’ll be us splayed out on the
cold table and instead wait for the mercy of
blade to the back because at least that way
our eyes can fill with sun when we tip
sideways into a burst of stars just behind
the eye, just a bit to the left—
