Where Horses Lived

Long ago,

statuesque stallions danced

with prancing mares in soft green fields

every evening before settling

for the night under the cover

of the once new barn

that their ghostly images

still call

home.

Soft winds rattle

lifeless leaves, crunching across

the dulled corrugated roof

of the desolate barn. Reviving

visions of chestnut mares

and princely white stallions,

with wild obsidian eyes,

wishing to run against

the wind once more.

Invisible eyes peer

through dried, dying vines

from deep within the cover

of velvet darkness. Holding

these long dead souls, like a mother

holds a cherished

memory

the wind and the night

set them free.