home is scorched earth,
red & ruddy & always aflame.
the mind wanders, loses its way,
forgets which forests have burned.
from the field, even voices sound beautiful.
all those syllables amongst the wheat.
I don’t remember where or when.
It just happened. I breathed in
and I was on the back of this white horse.
what I mean to say
is that it started snowing.
for every inch that fell,
I cut an inch of my hair off.
there are no villains here.
I promise you.