On the Horse,
a pair of lenses

swollen to fit the nose.
Handsome in silver.

The frames slick with promise
that this attempt wouldn’t embarrass.

I Stood there embarrassed.
I suddenly had scant idea what was required

but I swore this attempt would not fail.
I swore this attempt would matter.

It didn’t matter. The horse
attempted closure. I did not.

We two were alone with our failure
since all I could do was fail.

We stood, false-lonely, loose-limbed
on her part; I wept tight and shaking

with unease and frank horror.
I could not, would not.

Did you know this would happen?
I did not, should not.

As ordinary as shattered glass?
As customary as any mistake?

I should not, would not.
The horse and I stood there

in the stall until someone came
and took us back to our places.

I lay down on my bed
and wept till I knew I wasn’t wrong

and this was the way of things,
how space and the universe were supposed

to unfold and that being right
would take a long time.

The horse doffed her glasses,
shook her head. Wondered

about the taste of sugar as if
it was supposed to be sweetness.

It was supposed to be.
Anyone knew that.