rounding Cape Hatteras on a blowy day
in a boat far too light for the waters
but light enough for me;
or flying over fences on my blooded
or bloody-minded Arab mare,
a feisty brat after my own heart,
one fence too far.
Sudden and fierce it should be.
Nobody I’ve never met should profit
from my slow and tortured death,
acceding in misery
to what the doctor thinks is best.
Their training is not that good.
Pharma doesn’t train my best healers.
Only wind and waves and good rich earth
can give what I need, or take it at the end.