You are getting closer
She hears the crunch of soft sand
and the skitter of stones beneath your
The scent of tanned leather fills
her nostrils fingers of steel butterflies caress fresh flesh wounds.
The feathered crop floats over proud bones luring her to the killing fields.
Your feathered crop gently brushes shivers of shoulders
no one can save her now
there is nowhere to run to
you have always
known how to break wild horses.