Fuseli in Peru

Down into the cloud-flannelled forest of the Inca Trail

You fly supine and feet first, as if you ride a luge sled

Fly to Dead Woman’s Pass

Land below the sandal-worn saddle of the pass

See the top of an evergreen approaching the pass

From the other side of the mountain, unknown as night

The evergreen comes into focus astride a horse

Watch this horse as it careens towards you

And as if you ride it too

Gripping only its sweat-slicked mane for reins

Mark this horse as it crests the pass

Hooves hammering the root-veined earth

Figure what comes here

The horse careens over the pass, frothing

It is not a whole horse galloping

Only the front half of a horse severed from its hind

Its mad eyes rolling

The half-horse barrels toward you, like a stage costume falling apart

Tumbling entrails not clowns

Figure what comes here

Figure what first appeared above the saddle of the pass

A red-branched conifer, saddling the horse

No—impaling the horse

A fearful symmetry of red branches stakes its spine

As if this mare has sprouted a second spine out its skin

As this horse charges you, momentum its only world now

Its unbearable conifer tilts and shivers like a standard

It bears you news of the new chaos

Imminent as breath

Inescapable as rain