after Agha Shahid Ali’s “Tonight”

 

The foal lies wet, curled

in a hollow 

of snow. It does not 

try to stand.

 

             god, limit these punishments

 

The foal was not born

a horse, though legend says

its mother was. Whose spear 

now shafts through its neck? 

 

             lord, cried out the idols,

             don’t let us be broken

 

Pyres flare and lick.

Carelessly, shadows leap 

among the wounded, and the trees

swallow their groans.

 

             in the heart’s veined temple,

             all statues have been smashed

 

An old hero-king

once vowed to awaken

and return from death.

His hooves:

soft as feathers. 

 

             prisons, let open your gates

 

How does any creature bear

its own weight, or the breaking

of its bones? The sun’s rays

stiffening. Already, they insist 

upon every silence.