Ariel is our horse riding a dawn,
The spirit talking of eye-pearls,
An old androgynous bodiless air,
A poet’s love of a dawn’s horse
Riding to tor and its blue space.
White lady rides in the streets
In the buff on husband’s taxes,
As eye of east cauldron burns,
The eye of a tom on peephole.
Spirit is unwilling into thin air.
Yet white flesh rides an equine.
Of its bones are a coral made,
Those pearls that were eyes.
Sylvia,Sylvia ,we have plathed
Riding in the buff to blue space,
As bodies rise and fall with tide,
And with each horse upheaval.
(remembering Sylvia Plath’s beautiful poem Ariel)