“e quindi uscimmo a riveder le stelle” —Dante Alighieri, 34th Canto, La Divina Commedia A tiny thing, a particle, a protein anointed in oil,
I. She has drunk hemlock all winter, intimacy with earth. Ponderous, slow-footed, she rises, black magma, a boulder rolled onto these fields: quill pig,
All his life, he’s galloped at the center of the herd, pressed and protected by jolting bodies as they swept across the veldt like
how the men, one of them my uncle, tried to force the horse into the trailer how the gelded bay balked and hopped, reared