I tell her, well, if you continue to work with horses,
before long you’ll be kicked and bucked and bit, too.
She smiles solemnly, slips back into her boots.
If only the heart could wear boots, I think,
something to make it feel a little more invincible.
No, I think. It doesn’t work that way. The heart,
though rolled and kicked and bucked and bit,
must never feel invincible. It must always know
it is in terrible danger of being hurt
and return to love anyway.