32

A man must put all that
Behind him, unlike the brute:
A bridled bleeding mouth
Checked by a bit.

When ears roar blood
One cannot think;
Thumping mustangs heaving sweat: bones
Drink dust.

When I opened my mouth
Song swirled, lifted
Grit from the teeth. I rested;
Warm, dry beneath dripping pines.


© Dan Goorevitch, 2003