Do.The.Work.
It is me and horses; a place to remember, a place to become, a place to be.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
a poem for Bill
crimson blood red
water running for creek
and ocean
and green grass reaching
for sky so blue and so big
so clear that you can look at it
and not exist anymore
my Bill unnaturally still by our hand
and his tibia
my heart too broken
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