Tables, sometimes I wish
masses of them would suddenly be turned
upside down and that you, just like me, had thought of horses

fallen on their backs, a thought so identical
it was like a tiny pump beneath the skin which we

needed only to push, so much more exclusive
than a touch of fingers – I want to touch you that evening it

snowed last year: impossible
and possible are sometimes so adjacent, that it seems

merely a matter of some re-
negotiating.