Lyn Lifshin
Horses In the Snow

if you are still, you
can hear ice crystals
move like beads
in blackness, before
you see them stand.
Under a snow maple
their legs lift in the
ballet step, pas de
, shake the
cold off, huddling
like children or the
memory of children,
shapes dark as
the space snow angels
leave, their hooves
an angel's tiara.
Light glosses the
grey as steam from
the horses rises.