Above the forests,
Past the tundra,
Upon cold ice,
We dance there,
And decorate a merry May pole
With many colors of hangman’s nooses.
And we sit on front porches in the dim light,
Talking about everything.
The warmth of neon makes our faces and eyes glow.
And just beneath the ice, our brothers and sisters are sleeping,
Dazed and chained,
Unbooted, riding wild mustangs.
Looking up, we start to remember our horses.
"Where is your horse?" somebody thinks to ask,
Her breath visible swirling in icy wind.
"What horse?" I reply, looking up from an angel I just made.
"This horse, silly." Someone points at thin, cold air.
"My horse is in the barn," a teenage girl replies.
"My barn is gone. It burned down years ago,"
An old woman still remembers,
Her warm smile shows the memory makes her hurt.
A woman cradling something long gone
Screams through tears, "Damn the horses!
But we all quickly forget horses and join others,
Gathering around warm fire in a barrel and sing songs,
Raising barns and drinking cold beer afterwards,
Standing and smiling in silent wonder at our works,
Standing on the ice,
Shivering regretfully
And dreaming about our lost horses.