There is one leg left

and there she wobbles.

Weak filly tumbling towards
new swells, feverish

rebirth, yanking at her sinews,
eager to move for the

chariot, the sun, the
splitting star saying,

Come here. The horizon
waits for you.

Heavy, but pushing,
dearly fresh stemmed heart

hungry,

braying for
gods that will have her

not fail
in her first flight.

You are seconds
from the light.

So she

lunges.