I
A sky. A field. A hedge flagrant with gorse.
I’m trying to remember, as best I can,
if I’m a man dreaming I’m a plow horse
or a great plow horse dreaming I’m a man.

II
Midsummer eve. St. John’s wort. Spleenwort. Spurge.
I’m hard on the heels of the sage, Chuang Tzu,
when he slips into what was once a forge
through a door in the shape of a horseshoe.