Moving like a newborn, narrow body
swaying on spindly legs, but stumbling on
hooves so long that you must push weight
back to your hind, spine roached to a hard
arc, sun-bleached mats in your dull coat
stretched over an angled skeleton, sharp
hips, exposed ribs. Eyes aged by exhaustion,
keeping your gaze low, braced against this
cold desolate world on a summer day.
Neglect is a lie told against the casual
beauty and abundance of this planet;
a cynical sin of omission. There is food
enough, none here would deny you,
recognizing a shared wasting place within
us. In offering you sanctuary, we save
ourselves, held in the care of each other.