A horse, in the second person

Horse sidles over
Slides ever closer
as sides expose the saddle marks
You have been broken
by whip and yolk and sad remarks
that your life’s arc – somber trajectory
rises, falls
So low can dejection be

Infection and flea
have gnawed away at thee
How very patient rot can be!

Not that we can see
purported portentous tempest
as it swirls about anew
Fields fill with emptiness
save memories of morning dew

The tunnel that leads us there

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