In the night pasture, the horse is waiting for me
as my self waits for me.

It stands quietly, it tugs at the grass,
its presence hushes the air.

In the star-glazed winter night I walk
towards the heat of its body,

the steaming vapor of its breath
and by the light of a few planets,

frozen as if in black ice,
I look into the eye of the horse,

touch its shoulder, smell its earthy breath
as it leans against me, presses its weight.