Fields

the train rattles along the hot iron lines.
we go by a field with two horses.
one has an aubergine for a rear
and a fir cone for a neck.
the other is a tube of oil paint
- they say it is ivory.
you and i, we see the lies;
it will fade like mediocre tarmac,
look like pitch at a distance.

a woman attends the two
no - she attends the field,
holds out hay absent minded
bare feet
she does not notice us pass.