Why do we make and mend and re-mend fences
that needn’t be built?

I say, let the colossal, playful, purple-black horses
roam where they will,
let them munch, knee-deep in daisies and clover,
lose themselves in morning mist,
or turn to shimmering silver under the new moon,
rolling their great, feral eyes in watchful restlessness.

Let each resplendent stallion, mare, and colt
wander at their own perfect pace
back to the meadow where they were born.
Let them form a circle,
with their tails touching and thrashing,
and for the rest of the long imponderable night,

stand together, to face the dark unknown.