I see how merrily they go

I see how merrily

they go round

and round, smiles

on faces unfazed

I see how grounded

they are through

tightened hands

on posts, gears

feign gallops

whether saddled

or not, a carousal

resumes with you

or not, in unison

up and down, I see

the woodworker's

pride, a menagerie

clad in fleurs-de-lys,

and jewels, and junk

brandished

with patriotism to

nations that reserve

no seat for you,

with necks skyward

stargazers, spin

on and on, never

looking back,

to see those left

behind, there is

no halting for

the fallen who

stepped down, I see

how frivolous

and freeing a feeling:

the belief

in flying horses.