enter the Mongolian Women's Band
with
the years,

whose music, theirs and theirs, like language learned,
inevitable, red and super-sound,
outplays the days the days that made it mine

and beauty beauty adds to it – its stir,
its wink, its melt, and anything that shines –
this is The Horse that Overtook the Wind:

the little men that ride the plain 
on hearts that will not race again 
whose hoofbeats knock on heaven's door – 
they will not come back anymore

the history of hope is short : 
it has one chapter – Youth. I thought 
that memories would make me wise 
but nothing comes as no surprise

across the windy open spaces 
briefly bright their shining faces 
do with beauty then are gone – 
the horses gallop on and on

and if I played my darndest, darndest card,
who have no beauty now, no more, what tricks
I take have not the hearts they had before.

The Horse that Overtook the Wind is done,
and beauty beauty raced it well – its stir,
its wink, its melt and anything that shines.

exit the Mongolian Women's Band
with
the years.