By Joti Heir
originally published in The West Trade Review


His eyes look

the eyelashes sweep heavily

I place my hands on the railing

Stand on my toes

To get a better look into his look

The tunnel is deep

I tilt forward

Almost fall into the stall

I travel to the back of his eyes

he was young once

he had a mother once

she disappeared

he cried alone at night

he blinked

he is here

he hangs his head low

as he walks in the stable

it is a slanted gait

his form is half the length of the stall

and the full width

he sort of turns

I open the latch

his head energy pops

he sort of runs

as much as one can run in a cage

runs out of the stall

all the while looking at me

he is out of the stall

still he looks at me

I tell him to go

he runs around in a circle on the grass

doesn’t go far

in a few minutes

he turns around

walks back to the stall

stands in the back right corner

head down