by Pavel Chichikov
He rides out through the rainy doorway –
Slide the hooves and clatter on the stone floor
Out of life itself, through cords of rain
Hemlock throws dense shade where he goes
And the weeds are frost-bitten
Their hollow straw-stems break and fail downward
One silver cord, thick, unrainlike falls
From a cloud or above all clouds
From space, or heaven, or above all heavens
And if he grasped this cord he would rise up
Would be lifted, would be saved
But the cord is silver rain
The horse is frantic, rears and prances
Ramps and stamps its feet
On the hollow hemlock drum
The horse of the flesh falls back
And the man on the horse is gone
And we call it death
(Click here to follow Pavel's ongoing epic poem “The Shoulder of the Sun.” You may also visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.)