After everything I will love the face of this horse
Who sees a hemisphere without flies
And loves what he loves.
His song, (which I do not know)
Is the same, forward and backward,
song of teeth, heart, and feet,
song in which all things rise
while in pursuit–
the last rose of summer, a yellow fence,
degrees of sight, circumstances of the grass.
Call him: you see his eyes first,
rich with humble discoveries.
The star on his head is a precious stone
which makes me sadly joyful like a boy.
We cannot change seasons
or elude the dark,
but we can be touched by sky.
close-up of just his face/profile as he reaches down to eat grass.
He's wearing a black/silver halter w/ red lead line.