WEBVTT

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Returning, the third part.

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The Wisconsin Horse.

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It is late at night
lying on the floor

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here in a church bell across
the street remembering

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that Wisconsin
horse this spring.

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One step at a time to return
the horse across the road

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stands within a fence
silent in the hot afternoon.

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A mile North is
some construction.

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I tell the horse that's
America building something.

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A mile further through a
clump of trees is a river.

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The Wisconsin horse is silent.

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The bell clamors against
the insides of my skull.

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It has nothing to do with
sound that can comfort.

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The clamor wants to
escape its barriers. ,

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I wanted to escape
I have no defenses.

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I should be an eager
Christian hungry for salvation

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or at the very least
accept snugness bound

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tightly in plastic.

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Yet at this single
point in my life,

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I know only a few bare things.

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The floor, the walls around
me, the bell across the street,

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that despair is a miserable
excuse for emptiness

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that I should echo louder
that call for salvation which

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at this point I know is a
need to fill the hollows

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and pockets of my body.

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Despair is such a poor
excuse to exclude things

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from my life to allow them
to slip from safe places.

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But now and not too
soon in this dark night

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having gotten up to write
I make this offering.

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That Wisconsin horse I saw
standing in the hot afternoon

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staring through a
chain link fence

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at the construction going
on only a mile away,

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I wonder now if the horse still
stands silent in The dark night

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dreamless and stifled, having
no recourse left except you

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hope his silence
will soon go away

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and the meaningfulness enter.

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