january - 2025 entry #2

X marks the parts of the city where I could put a horse,

grazing (we could plant grass), and then something nice

would live there, too.

there are cities, somewhere

I swear, where the sirens calling in the red light night

are actually coqui - tiny frogs. they beep like car alarms,

digital and unseen.

cities where a rooster crows at 5 am - the crickets, the coqui

cease - as poultry tell us to rise.

the horses, steep in their egrets, spot the land around them —

I catch one on a horses’ back. I question their companionship,

quickly, the horse wraps his neck around, ears pinned -

(I watch this all from the field’s edge)

he snaps his front teeth at the bird's wing -

if not a companion, the bird becomes what to the horse?

the horse becomes a city to the

bird, the city becomes the horse

to the country, the bird becomes

the country to the horse, the herd

flocks the field in the city.