There’s a black horse in the meadow
and a white one with its lips on fire.
Through the trees, I can see them burn.
And now the orphans have thundered out.
A tall girl and three boys in frayed jeans
and boots zigzag between black flanks
and white, slapping at the fire with rags.
The air around us is thick with gnats and flies.
Horses scream. Smoke rises toward the sky.
The stench of burning flesh drills through
my bones. I’ve watched this before in a dream,
a scene without sense, the horror unexplained.