and any unravelling

will be just that –

an unsympathetic tug

and tearing

and tearing

and of course

we know this.

I don’t know how

but somehow

it’s all of this

stuff,

here in this bag,

with all the coins just

lying there

at the bottom, exposed.

I hate change,

but you are easy in a way I never will be,

taking a big sip of water as if it were the source

of your actual

perfect health.

It is your body

that is at your surface,

you lucky dog; you are exhilarated

by the things put here

to sustain you

and if you were an animal,

actually, you would be this horse

we are passing on our way home,

content with the utter simplicity of this grass

and this wind

and soon a firm smoothing with my palm

of all the hairs

on the back of your neck.

I am terrified

that I am the bird

that lands on you for a moment

and when I breathe

you feel my whole body shaking

with the effort of being alive.

I am about you

in circles

obsessed

for that tiny bug

that specific

seed

and you are

meanwhile

just there

capable and magnanimous

drinking the water as if it were the obvious

happiness.

Here it comes now, my

hundredth

sip of air

for your one,

my bones full of it

barely there

but singing

on the inhale

Of course, my horse,

of course.