remembering that horse
that tried to take me off trail

it had to be tethered like
this word and this word

at a lazy time
some time on Christmas Day

wanting some freedom
through Cuban sugar cane

fields times elapsing stood still
then boldly breaking new ground

over cliffs of fat rocks
lodged in the river valley

and before that a
young man pressed down

sugar cane juice
all his body weight pressing

to make that glass
of sugar juice green

the last final shudders
of that handle hang in memory

as we dwindled on to
woodland an old man

sang something solemn
about Santa Clara