WEBVTT

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Sitting one time in a
aesthetics class in Greensboro,

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I'm very, very powerfully bored.

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I started writing
what turned out

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to be a poem sort of
without-- very absentmindedly.

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And it was this one.

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This poem is called "City
Dreaming of Horses."

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And what I was dreaming
of, of course, was Troy.

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And thinking at that time
we were talking about,

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it was the beauty
in the object or is

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the beauty in the eye of
the beholder and all that

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which are interesting.

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I mean, I don't mean to
scoff at them entirely.

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They're fun to talk about.

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But it was also seemed to
me like it was spring day

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and it was beautiful outside
and the birds were carrying on.

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And I didn't care whether those
bird notes were in my ears

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or in the bird's mouth.

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It was just really
nice to enjoy them.

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"Each dawn, we watch the bus
descend through lifting mist.

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Come shining down in emerging
hills decline to the sea.

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We mount its trembling steps,
feed the chattering meter

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quarters, sit, begin to sleep.

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But first, sway round our
brightly curved tidal bay,

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begin the lifting road up
through the hillside pastures,

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passing every day the dew
drenched buckskin mayor who

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comes to lean against the
leaning fence and stare.

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As from our serial
windows, we stare back

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before we enter the city,
dreaming of horses."