the horse

He comes through the streets
under the full moon,
a horse killed
in an ancient battle.

His dull hooves. . .
he trembles, he slips,
gives a gloomy neigh
with his distant voice.

At the leaden corner
of the barricade
he stops with empty eyes
and horror.

Later one
can hear his slow tread,
through deserted streets
and through ruined squares.

José María Eguren