I’ve got out the tools that
Etch, and magnify, and pierce
So the light might pass through
The translated essence of the thing.
This one’s full of horses,
And they keep jostling my long, slender tongs.
If you stab a horse, even
One this small,
The blood that comes out
Isn’t a horse at all.
It doesn’t know where it came from,
Even the adrenaline, doesn’t know
What it felt like to ride.
I think you have to feed it,
To grow this uncrystalline moment up,
And even then,
The light only knows a whole horse
At its edges.