Larry
loved his wine, he was last seen in the vineyard. We fought, often, or circled each other like tigers over meat.
Sober, he was a son of a bitch and drunk, he was even worse. Still you
stand there and you say I don’t seem moved.
But
the horses know. There is God in a horse’s eye. You say that I seem cold but
the horses know who I am.
I
dreamed of them a thousand strong and trampling, pounding until he was broken.
I
could see it clear as sugar water coursing through his veins. Jaws locked and fingers frozen in the air.
I
could see it flowing like a river in a cave, the horses splashed and danced and
it formed crystals in his brain.
He
was a bastard, drunk or sober, Larry only loved his wine. You will say I only
love the horses.
They
know who I am and they know what’s in the vineyard; you
say that I am cold but God is there in a horse’s eye.