The Barn

I look out the window

Watching the stallions’ hair

in the wind, in front of the barn

the lone barn with the gleaming paint

they run through the field so carefree, happy.

They start to run away to other fields, where they

Go I do not know, out into the cruel world. The paint

On their barn is chipping off revealing the breaking beams

And how it is now falling apart, never to be opened again.

Her charges are free and gone.