The Secret Lives of Horses
In a slow explosion of low fog something in a pasture flickers into and out of being. A brown wavering vertical is absorbed into a density of white. It spills out as a profile-horse which is absorbed back into density. This direction performs itself through numberless secret variations.
I fight an urge to call you, to hear your sleepy voice and say that where I am when no-one is looking time-forms are released from the objects that hold them.
On a mountain in my memory a silhouette locomotive of cylinders, rods and diamonds with open metal spinning flower wheels shudders through a plane of smoke and indeterminacy.
I point a camera at the geography of light that spreads inside a surface of asphalt. The screen remains black. The flash photographs itself scattering.
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Author's Note
this place is not far from here but only very late at night.
i don't know if i caught it.
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An interesting piece, Stephen. Nice imagery throughout. Especially like - "On a mountain in my memory a silhouette locomotive of cylinders, rods and diamonds with open metal spinning flower wheels shudders through a plane of smoke and indeterminacy."
Enjoyed.
I like the density of language in your writing, Steve -- that combined with the simplicity of the emotion here, the
'urge to call you, to hear your sleepy voice'
is really nice.
thanks for the reads and comments. i found this a tricky piece to make because in the end it's using a kind of precision to stage something ephemeral. maybe the feeling of instability follows from being closer than i sometimes get. or maybe it's something else. hard to say.