in a dark, dark sky that may yet, a horse is the yet

by | Issue #6, Issues, Poetry

the field is barren but for the bloom
of this horse

and its iridescent pubes

like shirts pinned to a clothesline
elsewhere the

horse is a comma in the middle
of its own pause, or

say a leaf in the ripple of its fall—
is it not mightier

than a crashing satellite, this leaf
falling of its own volition?



summa iru happened when the poet came across Rilke’s Book of Hours. The rest, as they say, is a dog whistle.