We box their canyons
and fence their meadows,
the noose flies
we strap steel to their legs.
On their backs
you’ll feel the mountains,
in their gait
the endless plains
And we sigh
when their hearts burst
as they fall in a tangle of limbs.
But the only thing better
is to watch them waste
tied in corrals
until their trot trembles
and breaks.
We share their sadness
hiding it away,
then go out to find another.