Stable

Nothing is solid -
nothing is solid;
my stable is horses
who gallop alone:

not one stallion total,
and none of them stone;
none rearing much more
than this Sunday's old throne

whose confines I have fled,
desperate for a meadow -
still, on hoof-trodden grass
lay the brittlest bones

where an ache for "awake"
died a time long ago.