the horse is not a horse
but it stands in the wings
and I pat its mane

the horse's mane waits
to be freed by my mouth
its hairs form moons on my plate

spinning in the ferris wheel until moon and wheel
are spoked together and I am up and airless
my chocolate bum has shunted toward

its rounded nostrils the horse begins to flow
into sugar and hay sandcastles detached water
the backdrop against which we both

gallop
hastily rolling randily
foaming at the mouth

Translation: Michele Hutchinson