the girls (after rilke’s ‘the boy’)

we are girls
our wild mares do not rush like rain
towards the endings of our lines

squares don’t make way
and no roads bend towards us at strange angles
we are girls

houses refuse to take the knee behind us
the black solitude we race across is never
cleared by screaming, glinting trumpets

our unprotected golden heads may gleam uneasily
but our torches do not flutter in the wind of our great hunt
like undone braids

we are girls
all we wish for is to pass the night unscathed