One question

The horse was and wasn't. 

He came to us in the darkest hour

whispering things that don't belong.

Like in a dream where the clouds can't find

their places. Suffering some sort of

spacial dissonance. 

He came to us just as is, to bear witness.

Eyes vehemently open, 

of a passion I haven't seen in so long:

how is it that anyone can endure such

pain?