Their names not our tongue to speak
They came in chariots
Bit and bridle, smelted bin
Unrusting stele of the Indus
The Ithiop. From this rift
Neolithic. Brown obsidian
Along the Danube, Dneiper
We cannot trace their names
Yamnaya, Shintashta
The horse God gave us love
Gave us legs as centaurs
Gifted us graces of fire and moon
Held the harvests of each before us. The east
The great wide blue.
There are messages lost
Thousands of messages of love and lonliness
Cast lost in glass stoppered bottles
The great blue blue ocean
The stirrup stepped again
Bit and bridle foregone for gear sticks
Demon steam and fire.
Przewalski, my little pony
Where is your pasture's boundary now?
No comments:
Post a Comment