You limp from the right,

mostly at night,

lately in the morning also.

It could be the cold.

You work too hard,

but at least you don't

drink and fight,

you just used to. There are

two gentle colts

in the pasture. Next

year, a few cows.

Beef, roping practice.

I will never be

your...

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Evening's rut of light bends all

antlered prisms to the water,

spotting that kindred skin

with a thousand new

densities.

Light drifts, wet and rosy, poured

from kindled skin falling.

Orphaned

waves graze, splaying

the soft dark feet of dusky fawns.

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...that stray dog

is plundering fresh

our trash cans.

He wonders at

something in the

flowerbed, lifts

his wounded

wandering leg.

I curl back

red curtains, lips

from my own

canines. Must

run him off now

or forever

invite him in -

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Sunday,

there was

the prophylactic

application

of a dozen roses. The

petals of what he was

about to say, then

thorns -

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I won't ask you to love me forever: Just wrangle me a cloud,

one of those puffy white ones, no dark ones allowed.

From its cotton

I'll make us

halters, leads

of cosmic rope -

There'll be no riding into the sunset:

We'll leave all

that below. Take

the buck out of that rainbow for...

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