Oh that horse I see so high
when the world shrinks into its
relationships, my mother
sees as well as I.
She was born but I bore with her.
This horse was a mighty occasion!
The intensity of its feet! The height
of its immense body!
Now then in wonder, at evening, at
the last small entrance of the night,
my mother calls it, and I
call it my father.
With angry face, with no
rights, with impetuosity and
sterile vision and a great
wind we ride!
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