Horse in Bronze # 134

Inside the wheel of an abdomen
the small colt rests
covered in copper shards.
The belly no longer a womb
but a ship, hollow and sound
traveling to this garden of sculpture.
Rest a hand here
put your tongue to the bolt—
no one is watching. No one
would guess there’s a miniature
replica of the mare rising
in the belly. Only you know
and ten thousands others
who’ve read the bottom
of the art history flyer.

Yet only you
take the bolt to the mouth.