While Ordering Salt Blocks
Let him be bay or
black,
the biggest, baddest motherfucker
in the barn,
one who can jump circles
around
her
and
her.
To have that freedom, to run with them,
to slip inside the posters on my walls,
to go back to when I was ten,
when no one was shaky
yet.
The people are like hoof prints,
and the rain lives on; hell, look
at the way the wet sticks to the ring
sand. I am one of the few
betting that desperate, true
love
lives beyond the books.
I could use the ocean.
-- C.A. MacConnell
