Spindrift

I am no longer there

cannot see

standing horses

bending heads against the wind

leaning into each other

sharing warmth

dreaming

waiting

nibbling ginger grass

that sprouts through snow

like hair on a pale boy’s body

like rough manes

falling into lava black eyes

if trees grew there they would be like these horses

stunted, sturdy, shaped by wind and time

standing still

not knowing

I think of them until

memory flakes,

turning them into

spindrift.