“At the crest of the hill two stallions backs black against a nectar wash graze on the green-tang clover, acorns to sniff out. We lie together beneath the flowering hawthorn, your white collar unbuttoned. Once, I heard the sound of wind under water, breathed in the sea and survived.”

“At the crest of the hill two stallions backs black against a nectar wash graze on the green-tang clover, acorns to sniff out. We lie together beneath the flowering hawthorn, your white collar unbuttoned. Once, I heard the sound of wind under water, breathed in the sea and survived.”

— Miranda Cowley Heller