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