Black Horse

The black night sky was brighter than those legs,

And he could not dissolve into the dark.

That evening, as we sat beside our fire,

The jet-black horse first came into our sight.

I can remember nothing that was blacker.

Like coal his legs, and he was black as night

Or emptiness, from mane to tail all black.

But there was yet another kind of blackness

Around his back that never felt a saddle.

He stood unmoving. And he seemed to sleep.

The blackness of his hooves was frightening.

All black he was and did not feel the shadows.

So black that he could not become more dark.

As black as the obscurity of midnight.

As black as it is black inside a needle.

Black as the trees that loomed in front of him.

Like the seed’s hiding place beneath the ground,

The hollow in the breast between the ribs.

.I think: inside our bodies we are black.

But yet he stood there black before our eyes!

It was still only midnight on the clock.

He did not come one step nearer to us.

Fathomless darkness reigned within his groin.

His back had already disappeared from sight.

There was no patch of brightness left on it.

His eyes shone whitely like a stinging blow.

The pupil was more terrifying still.

He seemed to be somebody’s negative.

Why had he halted in his onward stride

To stay among us until morning came?

Why did he still remain beside the fire?

Why did he breathe upon us the black air

And rustle like crushed branches under foot?

Why did he pour black light out of his eyes?

He was looking for a rider in our midst.