Across a mile of meadow,
I see what the horse sees, a whirling
funnel of wings in slow motion.
I know what we’ll find, if I ride there,
the horse not willing to back-talk.
Whatever it was, it’s over,
no more desire or fear forever—
a calf that wandered off
down crumbling shale, bone-snapped,
unable to bawl loud enough
until it starved. Or only a rabbit
that outlived the rattlers,
the safest death, simply to lie down
under blue skies and sleep, accepting
this as the way, not dreading anything.
