You Would Become
Some nights
you lie next
to him as he
sleeps, shadowy
light striping
his face, and think
you would do anything
to enter him.
You would become
music, some orchestral
or unsteady...
Hippotherapy
I cannot remember a time when
you weren’t strange, dressed up in your white tights
and turtleneck, become the white mare,
barefoot galloping the yard on your
hands...
