Recall those wartime
draught horses pulling
carts around our suburb -
milk, bread, firewood � like
the record of something
irretrievably
lost, the way for example the
beast would stand, one
rear leg resting
poised on a hoof-point
like a ballerina -
or, square-foot, head-down,
nose in a chaff-bag,
or in the roadside trough
blowing through nostrils
before drinking, as
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