47 – Altiplano


Ugly truth arrives
half-empty Bohemia bottle
whistles disbelief

rage shatters glass
imploding binary star

carved on the wall
of a nowhere
altiplano cantina.

Field horses
raise naggled heads
in the sourĀ  wind.

Apologies are anguished
litter; semantic glass
only nuzzles deeper.

World of men abandoned
for the emptiness
of dirt and grass

and the animal
instinct of herd
and scent.

Her hands mark
tattered manes,
bloodied muzzles

close, bulk warm
against her own
stretched neck.

She knows of hobble.
Half a world away
plans fold all wrong:

a useless map
of a city she’s never seen
buried in a lost pocket.

The shared key
broken off
in the lock;

the common address
on a street with a name
she can’t recall

and would not
return to tonight
if she could.

She curls
in the far corner
of the pasture.

The herd gathers.
Long bodies
and all seeing eyes

make vigil;
she sleeps
as they sleep

under sky,
a standing circle
ringed around her.

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