Last Horse

The numbers didn’t change, just the lines.
The faces didn’t change.

If you don’t think about it,
it goes away.

What are the chances? That last horse,
your stable mate.

The letters didn’t change, much,
except by attrition.

The first creaking open of a gate,
galloping into the night,

to find a world of corrals.
A world of well-fitted bits.