Horses grazing on a hillside,
from this distance motionless
(try to see the hour hand move).
Rusted sculptures, light-absorbing
chestnut, all thews and strength
born in fire and sparks, roaring heat,
now oxidizing (the weather’s sluggish flame).
Their necks gracefully arced downward,
their mouths upon the fibrous meal.
Their straight legs, their
swarthy flanks against the turf.
They are statuesque and emblematic
of times past, of days of
sweat and muscle, brisk aromas,