WEBVTT

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OK.

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A lot of figs tonight.

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[LAUGHTER]

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This is-- I tricked you.

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I'm going to do that a minute.

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You know what?

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This is called--

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I don't read this poem
out loud too often.

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I don't know why.

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It's called "Becoming a Horse."

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This is about the first
horse that I met, really met,

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became friends with.

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"Becoming a Horse".

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"It was dragging my hands
along its belly, loosing the bit

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and wiping the
spit from its mouth

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made me a snatch of grass in
the thing's maw, a fly tasting

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its ear.

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It was touching my nose to
its made me know the clover's

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bloom, my wet eye to his made
me know the long field secrets.

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But it was putting my
heart to the horse's

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that made me know
the sorrow of horses,

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the sorrow of a brook
creasing the field.

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The maggot turning
in its corpse made

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me forsake my thumbs for
the sheen of unshod hooves.

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And in this way drop my torches.

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And in this way drop my knives.

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And feel the small song in my
chest swell and my coat glisten

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and twitch.

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And my face grow long.

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And these words
cast off, at last,

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for the slow honest
tongue of horses.

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