Horses

A field of idle horses lie

Itching to begin

Something, at least. Something.

Work, for some.

For those who can't see beyond the now.

Play for those whose now chokes like a bit in the mouth

But all wait

Holding their breath until the sun goes down

Tomorrow to Mongolia!

The land of the wild horses!

Tomorrow, but not before.

Tomorrow, where wilderness begins.

Free man is a slave because he doesn't bite the hand that feeds

And waits

I looked into the horses eye

But he saw me

Tomorrow, he said.

Tomorrow to Mongolia

The land of the wild horses