Poetry in the Morning

Is best, wrist bone and mystery of it,

Returning now to bio-mechanical frame

After a night of dark herding.

I wish I could tell you

What mind-body means

Like an honest neighbor.

My wife’s horse is just here

Lowering his mouth to grass

Which is cold and wet

A promissory winter

In each grab.

My ribs have a story—

Green as a horse’s jaws,

You’ll not be paid

For saying so—

Ribs outlast most poems.

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