wolf horse half moon

this is the morning when wild horses come calling,
come calling through busting fences, come calling through re-arranging random objects,
this thing that was once here is no longer, and that thing that was once held is now lost,
they come frantically moving hearts through chests that can move civilizations,
making small things into enormous troubles, they are come to call things into
question to make more trouble, this is the morning when they stomp too close
to the wolves that get in their way, wolves too tired to move quickly on a morning
that is too cold for words. this is the morning when their brands all show
alliances that don't connect to each other, and never will, brought to the heat of
white metal, and they don't fetishize the smell of their own skin burning, this is
the morning when taboos and totems are placed on opposite sides of the beam
and there is no balance. it's a day when a moon starts off slow, a sliver of a
conversation that gets lost in a dream outside a courtroom, this is a wild heart that's
been caught swimming in its own bloodstream, unable to separate the blood
that marks wounds or the blood that runs from the familial river, this is the
morning when a wild horse gets caught in time and struck silent, considering alliances
by the faint light of the moon, unable to make sense of the sound of the blood rushing
through the ears. these wolves that gather, waiting for the moon to grow,
mark their territories with the smells that please them the most, circling the young and
making space for a new collection of objects that have secret power. this tooth is
the one that came off on me when you had your face buried in my neck, this
is the nail that was left in my back after a night that turned too quickly into a morning,
this is the carbon that fell off my skin after that fire. i'm becoming someone
something else, on a cold morning, i hope it's you, but all i can see is the heat
of my own breath, and the bones of a hundred generations of ancestors come calling,
calling horses on one side of the mirror or another, but it's too early in the day, or
too late in the month, to decide what belongs where, what needs to be shed for the
spring, or what new lives might decide to stay.


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