Racehorse

The geese overheard the embroidered impulsions 
Between our last embrace. Your fingers withered, my nape—
Headed south, land barren and yet soaked
Of copious winter heath. 
I stay here—I stay
Underneath the watershed, crooked and warped 
From the underbelly, into my outreached palms
Crawl forward into me, into eternity. 

Like a racehorse put down in the yard–
Sick dog of autumn with shielded pleasure from all things cocoa, 
      Hid my eyes. Humming, drenched, and 
white.
Falling backward into the kennel, snapping my kneecaps, tore my blinders
Like I lost my last race.