One day she cut her hair off.
Their eyes throbbed upon its brown muscular body,
the scissors were red photos ribs' x-rays turn sepia blue
when newspapers report:
their kids chew bubble gums or stub out cigarettes for a horseshoe
turning a soft paw cool and cooled with time, yes,
with time its water bucket back-turns in the stable breaks a vase
to bouquet empty hands for its almost funeral.
They all seem wind-washed and rain-stirring the psalm
notes their dewy sound
fastens in corals on the sea bottom: her hair.
It floats on the surface, all of it.
Cowboys & celebrities don't get it,
but she willingly parted with it
since nobody taught her
how to part with his mane.
