Love is a horse, all sweaty suede and lean
muscle, heart bigger than its head. Love is a

dark horse, the unexpected silhouette, the anti-
man’s empty field—no shadow unattached

as darkness clings to light like a dead horse.
Look: I can make a dove with both hands. Now

a dog, a horse, an elephant. I can make love.
Love is a horse sound the throat makes when

it’s sore. I gurgle, I gag on a horse pill. But love
is an easy thing to swallow. Love is just horsing

around; it leaps like a wild horse from my chest.
Thank God love wears this simple shoe, and I can

nail it to a wall for luck. They say close only counts
in love. Lead love to the river; love might drink.

–from American Fractal
first published in Spillway

4 thoughts on “Saddled

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