The Horses

Upon second steed will I die. First steed I know, have always known, walking over savanna by mountains along edges beneath the upstretch of the glowing crevasse, all the distances dreamy and stretching for me, for me and for him. First steed was with me, always in the dream with me. On the high side of what I could apprehend. On the furthest side of what I could see. I knew of him without beholding him and though not seeing I painted him a color that was the blue of my recognition. Other horses I saw. In the grass: the steed called Practical and the steed called Remain With Me And Be Mine. Other horses. I had laughed. I laugh first steed knowing you and not knowing. Pride roars. Pride is roaring now, roaring over roaring, the great unveiling the great loss the great protest filling the sky and falling to the cold dew of evening’s end. I know you and not know the first thing about you, that first steed is what you are because with you comes the second.

Franz Marc, The Dream, 1912