My Life in the Glen

In the winter the frost was my mother,
And I was a hooved fetus with barely a "coo"
To carry me to Spring bloody and ejected,
Blessed with a voice.

In the summer I brayed to mother-stars
And with my bleats I pled
Until she fell to glen and melted
Me wholly into horse parts.

I belted sounds into the brisk fall air,
With something of autumn, and something alone,
My hooves to the night sky, I grazed nothing,
And Mother-stars were melted

So no stars would speak.
My mane grew lustrous in the night,
And words grew through my pursed lips,
Not for nothing.

No, no world unspools to nothing
Something exists for its own sake, not for horse speech
Nor for horse brain did I stretch my limbs
And gallop towards father-sun

Heavy God in the summer.
My limbs gave way, in the light,
In the dew, I fell, parched
Voice, asleep in the glen.