riderless horse, pales in the east

bringing in this fragment of blue,
trampling off the edge
in slow patterns.

at night I am lost.

I am bleeding. I have asked so.

I have nothing to offer you,

but the senna of crawling branches
under closed moon.

absence oils my throat
a purple flux of cessing.

a vagrant hue.

I want your human letters
but I am stained with ink.

the blue floods my eyes
stains the hue of wanderers
at the slant of my door.

once, I thought I knew
my heart

but I am mundane and
cut with sorrow.

I am not forgiving,

just a few paw prints
left in snow.

in a luxurious, shallow sky
I am tethered

to the kestrel

folding itself
to my ribs.

unraveled in the singing

the hemlock spool yellows
in my gut.

I wander my city of pith
as a sickness

asking the hole
in sky
to shut my mouth

to the senseless tune
of what I do not own.