Falling Horse - Ann Marin Macari

[Larry Robinson]

Falling Horse

Ochre, and the black line
of mane  painted soft on the wall, legs
pointing up. Who knows how
to fall without landing, to pass through
each dimension upside down? Forgotten,
the upper world and all that light.

Why do you haunt me?
For a little while I want to be alone
with the animals, with the cold stone
and my lamp. The black mane
caresses the horse's head,
floating between us.

	- Ann Marin Macari