Autumn

Autumn

One clean morn of far mountains,
healthy horses muster
at the warehouse square
under hillside


Hot breath steams out of their bare teeth
and dung cake smells out without a shy
Nowhere to go,
I stay in this sight


Suddenly not alone for
beautiful maple trees by the warehouse
join to smell this odor
in secret


Old oaks of the hillside open arms 
to cover this scene uselessly
Horses laugh
their head off