There was a morning when
she opened herself to horses—
it was a sort of release, the wind
and soft petals under her toes.
She waited out in the field, their bodies
lingering off on the horizon.
They looked black against the sun,
manes twisting, all muscle.
She imagined their eyes, like dew
and something melting, opening her skin
and finding nothing, heart pumping,
the twist of hair over closed eyes.