Horses

Now that the horses have left, the windows gleam

with the indifference of our neighbours.

They have forgotten the beauty of useless animals.

If a snout had scattered the garbage day heaps for apples,

or if a bus had soiled the intersection with an escaped 

cantering body, there might have been 

more enthusiasm for these shimmering relics,

caretakers of forgotten words my daughter 

stands in the street afraid to touch but hoping to ride.

© Stephen Brockwell