There is no space wider than of grief, there is no universe like that which bleeds...

I almost thought in my sleep.
I almost dreamed in the dust,
in the falling rain of the dream.
I felt I had old teeth
as I fell asleep; perhaps little
by little I'm changing,
changing into a horse.

I caught the smell of the rough
grass, of the mountain ranges,
and I galloped toward water,
toward the four stormy
stations of the wind.

Good to ba a horse
loose in the June light
close to the mountains
where the rivers run
tunnelling under the turf-
the air there runs a comb
along a horse's flanks
and the language of leaves
moves in the blood.