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With Horses

See the bright scarves,
how they stream
in the tattered wind
on a flurried Thursday.
Such glory. Faces press
to straining necks.

Hooves pummel the earth
with the urgency of going
nowhere—but fast.
Before a late storm
of mane and snow,
low fences blur.

What's short is balanced:
wide lanes now flanked
by lace branches of elm,
cloaks of white disguise.
How wishes can gallop,
rear against the sky.

The wind snatches laughter
from desire's throat.