I remember the Moorkiller’s
stone horse in Logroño,
its terrible phallus.
Near the steps that pilgrims
once bloodied with their knees,
the jolly lacemaker.
We yield the road
to sheep, a bicycle race,
old men bowling in the afternoon.
Dave Bonta (bio) often suffers from imposter syndrome, but not in a bad way — more like some kind of flower-breathing dragon, pot-bellied and igneous. Be that as it may, all of his writing here is available for reuse and creative remix under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. For attribution in printed material, his name (Dave Bonta) will suffice, but for web use, please link back to the original. Contact him for permission to waive the “share alike” provision (e.g. for use in a conventionally copyrighted work).
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