Red wine is fined by adding broken
eggshells or bull’s blood,
but does not taste of the animal travelled through it.
Cold leather of fog on the day, then only the day,
cleared and simple,
whose windows lift equally into what light happens.
The dog asks to go out and you let her,
age rough in her coat as stairs that keep no landing.
The familiar is not safety.
Yet a horse unblindered runs back to the shape it knows burning.