my heart is open country now
low sky on a flat plain
a lone horse splits its hoof
on a stone
hobbles off
*
mountains holding down
the horizon, blocking weather
all that comes down this side
image of rain
we won’t feel
*
bloody light in the canyon
the last fist unfurls
if no one remains to grasp,
pull it up,
what good that prayer
*
red valves pumping, urging
to be no stranger
if I bear my heart as my nation
how is love made
without weapons
*
not a machine, but machine-like
not a lone horse
but who would trade that split hoof
for bit, reins, the hands
behind them
*
once I loved a rancher
who left the ranch for the city
who left the city for war
whose bones make soil
for the desert
*
us, them a history
without names
a storm without cease
without rain
in the heartland
*
script on the stone that split
the hoof: mother the stranger
noun or verb, I ask
says a lone horse,
both
