Snoqualmie Song
1
In winter
the stones mate, rain
comes down like horses.
You circle the slow bank of sleep
like a snake sliding out,
weird silence
your song of pleasure.
Little streams
of dreams
fall to their senses
and become the forked fingers
of time.
2
People from the moon
tied their horses to clouds
and during night the horses
pulled the clouds
to earth.
3
You come to a field
of green feelings where horses graze.
A river flows where flowers wait to open.
The world rolls like a heavy stone
from the cave of your heart.
Tom Snyder: Collected Poems 