2

The wild mare drinks from a river in Cabo:

a pilgrim's dream.

shooting upwards like a cat

I feel so total

petting the roots rocks and moss

paying my loans--

I think there's a creek for her

dim in the damp woods

of a cat's green eyelight

bits of mist shunt

my Chincoteague, your

Cleisthenes, I realize

it's too late for the states