I ask the past to unhand me
why ask for the past lies
why again do those who know
nothing of horses insist on
penning them I drag at my own fore-
lock romantically look it up
my one good memory might be false
the bay mare on her side
in the dew green she set
her hooves still for me for she
knew things we all know only
animals aware themselves of
every set of steps leads back
to one maple tree wherein I hid
bark-bent I doubled and in
doubling I blanked both the green
dew and the dark swelling it-
self below
though my hands were free I feared
the pulse curve and my own eye’s
black pulsed blacker than the earth
beneath the probable mare
why ask for the past lies
why again do those who know
nothing of horses insist on
penning them I drag at my own fore-
lock romantically look it up
my one good memory might be false
the bay mare on her side
in the dew green she set
her hooves still for me for she
knew things we all know only
animals aware themselves of
every set of steps leads back
to one maple tree wherein I hid
bark-bent I doubled and in
doubling I blanked both the green
dew and the dark swelling it-
self below
though my hands were free I feared
the pulse curve and my own eye’s
black pulsed blacker than the earth
beneath the probable mare
