for Christoph Ransmayr

not much
is known about them
(they are anatomically
speaking impossible)
scattered descandents of a
sodomitic hero
a mythic mare-mounter

but now they gather
in the early morning haze in the pale light of dawn
you hear them before you see them
their stamping their snorting
& sometimes that distinctive sound of
hoof striking stone

shadow-like their massive
bodies drive
through the drifting fog
that only hesitatingly rises
& free them for view

some embrace each other at length
others rub
their bristly flanks nearly
unintentionally against each other

then anticipation presses
the herd closer together
the ambling ebbs
they remain bunched
with pawing feet
whipping tails
& raised arms

until from their calls - raw
somewhere between neighing & shouting - appearing
wingéd there in the sky

Pegasus

angel of the centaurs who
for them alone strikes open fountains
in the steppe & stone

Translated by Gregory Divers