There was once a convoy heading for the West
bound together they were, of the same bones
lying down their path in front of their hooves
lying about their path as the snow would heave

they had packed up heaps of what they had but
as they had not much there was not much weight
piling on them as their feet were grinding what
was left of their fears and defeated minds

they had stories to count on to help them stay
awake and at stake – they had horror stories,
histories to recall and call on when all that was
was a vast no-one – they had fear possibilities

what was it that they found in them was it
a cord that laid consistency in front of them
was it blood that had them dream of a liquid to
grasp was it a gasp or was it an enchantment

there was snow cutting them down in their skin
there were horses refusing to live long and cold
there were hopes thrown like a handful of flakes
on a snow bank there was – a mere dying hand

they had an issue that was no exit they had
their own bodies and minds, restless chilled, blained
bones that they had ground finely until they were
part of the soil again part of the sole plain

they had
no other

just like we had no other
when we met them drenched
covering their needs
on a pure floor