stick dark as unstuck mud
on the boot left cleaved on the basement rug
a knife poking through a pumpkin
something like breath, a drachma unearthed
by a four year old, cloaked,
shivering: hexagonal,
seemingly gorgeous, a dream--
the picture of horse, the faint upward motion
of coin bounced on the pocket's
inside, it climbs without bearing
right or left, thumb coolly caressing
its image for more than ten years--
time passes, as a pear.
In the thinning, subconscious night
light enters the room like a horse's canter.
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