I saw that a star had broken its rope

    in the stables of heaven——

    This homeless one will find her home

    in the foothills of a green century.

    Who sleeps beside still waters， wakes.

    The terrestrial hands of the heaven clock

    comb out the comet's tangled¹ mane

    and twelve strands² float free.

    In the absence of light and gravity，

    slowly as dust， or the continents' drift，

    sinuous³， they twine⁴ a text，

    one letter to an eon：

    I am the dawn horse.

    Ride me.