Horsetooth Currencies
by Sarah Ruth Jacobs
The steeds are greased
and snorting, liable to
startle, to disturb
clearings, equine lives
finding a dark vein of
hysteria in autumn,
hooves hammering
a dance of twigs
and pebbles.
There shall be no more
waiting at the hearth of
past lives; the verdict pounds
past the cabin's kitchen
window, its rider grown hoarse
with joy.
With the fading
hoofbeats twilight drains
from summer sky.