I say we’ll have to bury horses
soon. You say it’s more work
 
than for two people.
You need to dig deep or
 
the bodies move,
hooves break ground
 
like teeth
through gums.
 
We hold these secrets
under our tongues like spit.
 
We jumped fences, started fires,
burned your father’s tools
 
the first day we met. You watched
me eat the pages, swallow
 
my history in pieces. We practiced
saying each other’s names
 
and locking doors behind us.
Entering the same red rooms
 
ten years later to tell you
I too hold these cloven parts.