Going from one place to another,
The horses are pressed with light,
Like Daniel when he is pressed
In the grass with his fawn.
They graze for the sweet taste,
For the clear drinking.
The horses stamp in the damage
Of joy, and the light fawn sours
With love; I am thinking of Daniel
Who loves a fawn, of myself whose care
Is for horses, thinking of the end
Of love for beasts, of the violence
Of the death of beasts, as we are going
From one place, to another.
-- published in Promethean magazine, Fall 1965