We picked our way down to the beach, watching the waves dragging out of our reach: tangling tails, like a sodden sheet; dangling entrails from the gut of the sea.
Hoarding our meals (alfalfa and rolls); trying not to catch the cold eyes of the gulls — I hope Mother Nature has not overheard! (Though, she doles out hurt like a puking bird.)
We stayed for the winter. No-one told us about the laws of the land. I hold my own. But you, with your hunger — you, on the other hand — make yourself known.
And when we were found, I know we both grieved. My heart made the sound of snow falling from eaves. You and me, Bess, we were as thick as thieves. So I swore, nonetheless, up and down, it was only me. They took me away, and, after some time studying my case, must have made up their minds. By the time you realized I was dying, it must have been too late. I believe you were not lying.
It is the day. I wake, with my ears cocked up like a gun (like every day, of course), yanked by my wrists to the sugar-front courtyard — now tell me, what have I done? It seems I have stolen a horse. I step to the gallows.
Who do you think you are — arching your hooves like a crane, in the shallow gutter that lines the boulevards, crowded with folks who just stare as I hang? It's all the same. Kindness comes over me; what was your name? It makes no difference. I'm glad that you came. Forever, I'll listen to your glad neighing.