Equinox

In the pasture by my house, the snow melts

to paths of not-quite-light, like a map

for sun to follow.

                    The horses there are unkempt,

obscured by pink blots of mange.

They walk all morning, catching flies in their ribs,

twitching like restless, half-wild minds.

I know their teeth could sever my fingers.

I know their hooves

                    could break through my chest.

I know the inscription of their breath

is an invisible benediction.

                    Today, I’ll groom those animals,

though they aren’t mine.

Tomorrow I’ll plant a garden

and in four months bring them carrots.

Soon the whitest sky will shatter, haphazardly

                    plant its crystal in our skin.

Then the dead will walk.

And I will come by your house, carrying

bread, eggs, apples. Milk colder than moon.