Revision 3
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the pictures
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier--in flickers
like a fever
dream. It is not
the echo,
the lisp from the fire,
but life that passes
from behind—a life
of outlines.
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth.
It is the horse.
Yes! The horse, then the release
and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
Revision 2
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the pictures
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier--in flickers
like a fever dream.
It is not the echo,
the lisp from the fire,
but life that passes
from behind—a life
of outlines.
How long have we sat?
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth
It is the horse.
Yes! The horse, then the release
and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
Revision
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the picture
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier--a flicker,
like a fever dream.
It is not the echo,
the lisp from the fire.
It is life that passes
from behind, a life
of outlines.
How long have we sat?
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth,
the release and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
Original
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the pictures
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier flickering,
like a fever dream.
It is not the echo,
the lisp from the fire.
It is life that passes
from behind, a life
of outlines.
How long have we sat?
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth
It is the horse?
Yes, it is the horse.
That is the horse!
It is the release and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the pictures
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier--in flickers
like a fever
dream. It is not
the echo,
the lisp from the fire,
but life that passes
from behind—a life
of outlines.
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth.
It is the horse.
Yes! The horse, then the release
and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
Revision 2
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the pictures
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier--in flickers
like a fever dream.
It is not the echo,
the lisp from the fire,
but life that passes
from behind—a life
of outlines.
How long have we sat?
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth
It is the horse.
Yes! The horse, then the release
and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
Revision
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the picture
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier--a flicker,
like a fever dream.
It is not the echo,
the lisp from the fire.
It is life that passes
from behind, a life
of outlines.
How long have we sat?
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth,
the release and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
Original
It is not the dark,
the slick wet,
the cold chain,
the pictures
on the wall.
It is not the game,
face-fixed, calling out:
horse, pig, soldier flickering,
like a fever dream.
It is not the echo,
the lisp from the fire.
It is life that passes
from behind, a life
of outlines.
How long have we sat?
It is the scream of the eyes
beyond the mouth
It is the horse?
Yes, it is the horse.
That is the horse!
It is the release and the return
beneath the dividing line,
the separation,
shadows coalescing,
to know and be fully known.
~~~
The secret of poetry is cruelty.--Jon Anderson