sunset

his red ford rolled up early evening, unusual, i ran out to him, the crystal gleam of the pond near the house bouncing off a slow wind the engine coughed, and stopped, and i hovered, near the thick silence of it he edged the door open, looked past me then turned his eyes and we stared at the graceful tiny soft peaks caressing water "it's done," he said and i stared to speak then but fell back on the truck door armrest instead then i noticed it, no smell, too much edge to him and he looked back again with clear long sighing to which, i happily told him that i'd searched for sunset today, set water out, banged on the oat bucket "sunset knows," he turned, and got up, and i followed him to the water, where we tossed a few rocks and watched that distant outpost fuse with the spin of our earth

up to the barn afterwards i sank into the shadows of sunset's empty stall, drawing in the dust cross-legged while he leaned on her gate, tipped his hat, we strode under faint stars back home and converged upon some logs, and he showed me how to split again, the wood drew my axe as a magnet and each hew spit the thick rush of a wooden wind in spring and each hew pierced the clouds around us

sunset died by morning without giving birth lifeless near a clump of blackberry bushes i found her, fourteen years of her straw smell her scratchy mane and warm neck and black jelly eyes bleeding away, away from me