Gift Horse
Mid-century, an early spring meant
taking off our shirts between the dunes in April,
desperate as we were to air our skin out
after months cocooned in wool. Even the sand
felt good, scratching our backs. We crossed our arms
behind our heads and watched the mare’s-tail clouds
brush the blue from the sky. Those stretches
of mild weather out of season—such gifts,
we never thought to check their teeth.