A man once long ago looked at a mammoth ivory

tusk and dreamed a vision of a perfect miniature

horse by firelight, galloping silent miles along

the quiet sandy floor of a dark cave, a model from

a time when hooves commonly crunched in the snow-

bound landscape and humans were kept captive by

weather, in the ice-covered caves of winter, there he

dreamed summer, movement and hunting and speed

racing by horseback, knees dug in – hours of carving

later – he had dreamed freedom into being, fine head,

arched neck, forelock, haunches, and tender fetlocks

released from an ivory cage, listen, hear him gather

himself up to canter, silver spurs shiver in the snow,

and at a gallop, he sets off into the history of the world.