One day I will walk off the face of the earth and there will be a kind of silence
A gentle wind blowing, rustling the taller grasses, caught in golden clusters
A bird’s call lost in the sunshine and children’s distant voices; the sound of waves
I have always been a romantic, enjoyed the soft drizzle of cold, grey rain on my face
Leaned into the wind; imagined what my love might be attending, is she bathing?
Felt my neck tighten and a holy spirit sprinkle at the sight of a twilight hare bounding
I cannot imagine the darkness of a killer’s landscape or their eternal hatred; the fire!
I would rather slit my wrists than share their mire, no love, no acceptance, no desire
Saint Augustus emerging from the flames with worn hands, furrowed brow, inner smile
A horses shape against the sky, its brick-white belly, long, blonde legs, flowing, grey mane
Best form ever drawn, next only to a woman’s soft, pubertal line, so handsome, so fine
The eyes heavy set, the nostrils such dark holes, the fullest contours, a formation of design
This horse is running, pounding the dusted plains, its sweaty, oiled coat flushed peach
The horseman riding is my better self, no words, weapon or long coat drenched in blood
Breeches, boots, a simple white shirt. I am prepared to meet my maker in the dirt.