My love gave me an iron horse to set over
my fireplace. Iron against iron, she said,
is needed to sharpen things. I have seen her
file the kitchen knives to a perfect edge.
The man she'd married saddled horses up.
They were his darlings. (That was one complaint.)
I see him with the harness, the bridle, the crop,
the reins, a veritable lasso of constraint.
But what do I know of leather or the will
to subdue intractable things? I cannot be
a creature of iron and earth. Rather I thrill
to wind that sweeps the prairie and is free.
There the herds run wild, their eyes on fire,
and I hear only the hoof beats of desire.