Orange horses
overlap, tails
gripping
a mutual inch of sea-
grass Their
viny coronets
rock in the current’s
slow jet
like the nerve
pattern
he left
beating inside me
He pumps water
through his pouch
She sheds a third
of her body in eggs
& swims
away
Nights later
clinging to the rag
of grass, he
spouts babies
New
seahorses turn cart-
wheels
Within hours of birth
she slips
eggs into him
again
New selves
spinning
into saltwater