17 February 2020

Postcard 187

The full world has been conquered

When he hears the sound
a horrible sound
the scream of a horse
you see his eyes
He hears it and knows

with that shot
his horse had died
a percussion rending time
And his eyes, they change
in that moment
He dies with his horse

Like a child he named
'self' 'horse' 'bullet' 'time'
Fence and saddle become
the only named things
between him and horse
As a dying man, a man
dying with a horse
all that slips away:
Man - away on padded feet
Horse - away as sand
Time and Bullet - fold up like water
Brittle self relaxes
passes as breath

Oh serpent underfoot
this is what you meant:
an unconquered world
Two fanged explosion
What now separates
asp from bullet?
man from horse?
woman from rib?
Likely stories, serpent
replies, fencemending

The full world must be unconquered
and I wonder, will I ever
join a horizon line upon a horse?
Will my equine breath
mingle with steaming tulle?
When will my horse age be and
when will death do its undividing?

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