It is surrounded by the blazing sun, like a moon with only slight gravity.
Along an arc of light spinning at immense speed, it runs forward even faster.
It races ahead, rising and falling,
pores and sweat glands, swaying strands of hair and mane,
the tension of its haunches and legs pulsing with motion.

It both guards and devours fate, not because it represents anything or contains anything, but simply because its running endures eternally. In that endurance, a tightly bound gap forms within our gestures. I meet the horse’s gaze. I feel the steadiness of its hooves. I feel the earth as my own body. Like the blazing sun and a turning disc, the mind becomes an image in motion, interdependent, moving together with a shared force.

When I feel something like recognition, in those moments of near dissolution, of gathering and dispersing, I begin to discern its figure within my actions, and thus arrive at a point of access… Collision, rotation, sliding, chaotic and dim, yet transparent and lucid. It is both aperture and orbit. Between language and language, between movement and movement, we connect the trajectory of our own fate.

Across a distant expanse, you too are watching it through that gap.
It is a form of writing that resists recognition, distorted, transformed, as if rolling in place, yet endlessly alive: each fleeting instant holding within it the potential of an entire civilization.