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Horses! Where are these now?
Such sturdy reliables
In a world of the mother
Here I searched high and low
To find how the prospect could
Turn from so great to so small,
I from a pebble to mountain -
Too soon the flesh faded to wood.
Horses! Where are these now?
Wooden and weak for a brain
Moving heads fixed on pedestals
Carved from dead bough.
How, loving the carved head,
I soon found more life in his
Wooden square jumping
Than in my giant's cry from the shed;
Prospect lowered, I grew from the earth,
Entered the dark gallery
On tall legs, felt around,
Waited for life and birth.
Face to the glass on the green
Fake of imagined seas,
I watched these wooden manes move
But no legs were seen.
Hooves and pedestals lost,
What sped their genitility,
Cleaving the dark weed
As their currents crossed?
Only our leap into their
Green day and their wish for our eyes,
Not yet dulled, to trace their descent
From Kings that rode the full air.
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