Fox Hunting

The dogs’ look

The hands on the reins

And the green of the forest

White teeth

Dogs

The horn at a distance

The smile

The dogs

The hand over the forehead

The searching look foresights

The pain inside the red heart

Ladies, their rings, their coursers

And the pain inside the red heart

A horsewhip sharply snaps

A fan points the way

There she goes...

A dog eye

The hands are legs

And the green of the forest

Oh, morning, surrounded by mornings

The horn’s getting closer

The dogs

No breakthrough

The look softly closes

A memory gently touchs the red heart

A long hair upon the hay

Drowns the red heart

The horses suddenly stop

White teeth

It is over...

And the fire, the fire, the fire...