Broken Horses

She turns the cold earth over, spade by spade;
the wounded bones lie out, exposed and raw
and glisten under flowers spun of straw–
she buries them in scars that she has made.
The garden fountain where their thrashing drowned
sits cold and stagnant, full of tangled hair.
She cannot leave her heartbreak lying there–
she hides her broken horses in the ground.

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