Sometimes the horses spook

over centuries

"Reveal yourself to science"

they said and I was

awl-headed and dripping

my sand

Agonizing over something

I've said yes to

is evidence

of the existence

of insidious fingers in me, insidious

as purchases

from big box stores

or the dawn of no one

will ever offer me

a sabbatical

What you hear now

is the big sound

of my own weeping

over the concept

of 'deserve'

Let's point to facts

I like moths

I cower in the face

of spontaneity

Radical candor

thrills me but

I need time

to digest—listen:

quiet singing

from the horse.

Still, like a tree

with supernatural ambitions

I am in my skin of time

Look now:

How necessary it hurts

from every wound, green

Ellen Welcker is the author of Ram Hands (Scablands Books, 2016), The Botanical Garden (Astrophil Press, 2010) and several chapbooks, including The Pink Tablet (Fact-Simile Editions, 2018). She lives in Spokane.