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T h e   O r i g i n   S t o r y


The horses were stolen without saddles. We swam


them across the Atlantic. It nearly killed the animals


and we were too tired to polka


when we made the beach. Here we’ll live


from now on—a pen and a cabin inland


from the headland, our names changed,


painted horses re-painted, leaning


legitimate. We build


every country mentioned in the histories—


rustlers, pirates, escaped convicts. We clear


trees around fresh farmsteads, we cut


the road ruts. That brute muscle-work


slowly purifies 


what was sullied by the thefts,


the flights from our first homes, the decision 


to swim an entire ocean, once.





r h p   h o m e



T o d d   M e r c e r















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