jogging
on the back
of a white horse
whose hoovcs

were the music
of dust and gravel
whose halter
was made of the leaf braids

of flowers,
whose name
was Earth.
And it never

grew tired
though the sun
went down
like a thousand roses

and then
there was nothing around us
but water
and the white horse

turned suddenly
like a bolt of white cloth
opening
under the cloth-cutter's deft hands

and became
a swan.
Its red tongue
flickered out

as it perceived
my great surprise
my huge and unruly pleasure
my almost unmanageable relief...