hese stone broad heads, mealy
fawn and striped, slip in
Chernobyl’s exclusion zone.
Marginal equine, long
thought gone, clawed back
even now poachers outpace
recovery, gut and tan
hides remember aspic
comb and gunshot blush
firmer than bitted teeth.
Fringes stained, they skulk –
no sweeter than injustice
being named for the first
to claim your murder,
casting mane and tail
as though swearing away
sigils. In relief.
Evading taxonomy
each cream coat,
claims steppe and desert
beyond all.
The last stallion seen
in the Gobi sands,
alone for thirty years,
or patiently buried there,
waiting for new
herds to be spent.