Other people than before
have now surrounded all the downtown
city blocks where no one walks
when it is cold outside.
An old man with a hacksaw
is called around to all the counties
where the horses started growing
crystal horns because he’s the only one
with any sort of use for them.
He grinds them up with some machine
made from a shop vac and some knives,
and takes the residue it leaves behind
and sells it all to tailors, so they can
use the dust on dresses made to sparkle.
He did this until the day he died
with a hole through his chest cut open wide
by a mare who didn’t care about the business.
It kicked the fence down and took off
past the freeway where the trees
grew so much richer and the grass
was left alone and never mowed.
After months of running free out there
the crystal mare met a wild mixed breed
stallion who was just as pale as she was
but with dark around its eyes like a disguise.
When they were together all those empty fields
felt like they went on forever, and they would
never be afraid of running faster than
the valley would allow.

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