Recent Work By Kate Angus

There are horses, two
of whom are crippled.

The lone chestnut stallion canters
in a tight circle, kicking up clods of dirt

and rolling his terrified dark eyes. The birds
have all flown away.

If you want to enter,
you can, but only

for a little while. It’s not easy
to keep bridges maintained.

Past the gate, the courtyard
is paved with flat stones: scales

of a sleeping animal.
The castle is all deserted rooms.

Here’s one with a tarnished mirror
whose silver surface

is the exact shape of a door
or a lake you could fall into

and rest, your back dappled
by clouds.