There is a being that lives inside me as if it were his home, and it is. It is a sleek, black horse that, despite being entirely wild – as it has never lived with anyone before and has never been reined in nor saddled – despite being entirely wild, it has the first sweetness of those who are not afraid: it sometimes eats in the garden. my hand. Its muzzle is moist and cool. I kiss your nose. When I die, the black horse will be homeless and will suffer greatly. Unless he chooses another house and this other house is not afraid of what is both wild and gentle. Note that he doesn't have a name: just call him and you'll get his name. Or it doesn't work out, but once called with sweetness and authority, it goes. If he sniffs and feels that a house-body is free, he trots noiselessly and goes. I also warn that one should not fear their neighing: we make a mistake and think that it is ourselves who are neighing with pleasure or anger, we are frightened by the excess of sweetness of what this is for the first time.