You're on 81 north and
avoiding the last piece of
conversation in the trapped
air of the Ford Fiesta
somewhere between Virginia and Tennessee
so you look right
and see a horse
alone in a field
that's sloping down, down
to a creek
Its head was bent toward a patch of green, shocking
neon green grass
edged in by bare
trees with their dead
hands reaching
up into low lying
fog clouds
Just one horse
in a private moment
that you're stealing and claiming
as your own.
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