4
Then see one, again,
at evening, in half light,
still looking like itseH
but lying down,
without legs or size,
the head too small and turning,
slightly adrift the body-
after three days as if in search,
two dogs dead,
two feet, two legs. . . .
And rest.
And know that come morning
you
will kill
what is left of the dogs
and follow it and run with it
until it lies down again
5
and tie its four legs together
or later let it stand tethered
and in all its silence not even touch it,
seeing it is only what it is,
and you with nothing with you
but yourself
and the dry hunger of the miles since the first one
stood as in sleep
or so alone it seemed born that moment,
in that place,
and that you will rise from your body
as from the ground
onto this other, second of itself, horse
and rider.
Stanley Plumly
