Against the
fences, nests
of yellowjackets and field
rabbits I carry home stunned
and smelling sheltered—
baked too long, stunned. Too late
in the day to water, we leave her alone
with her daylilies, forget-
me-nots and soap
operas. Too late in the day
for fishing but he draws back
the barbed-wires I pass under
and we follow the fences, erratic, taking
an acre now and again and fighting
over them in the evening. (They throw head-
lit punches against the crooked tree
line.) The honeysuckled gap
the horse pressed and stepped over
is still buzzing, shot
and later that dusk the glass door
between us he will chase her around
the house her hooves deep in tulip
beds darkly flashing a throat
of pearls her iron
sloppy cool and ringing across
the tangle of stepping stones
and garbage sack bottoms he buried
in the garden himself.
