(Pan, Greek god of the wild)


From birth they run with

instincts of wild ponies,

free of shoes and stockings,

dashing randomly through trees


They too have been warned

of broken glass, gravel,

burrs, scorpions, yet

they scatter without warning,

galloping after an uncertain scent


They cut heels, smash toes, anything

for the pleasure of bare skin,

against grass, mud, tree bark,

bound only by their urge

to scamper unshod and unshoed


Neither reason nor fear

will deter these descendants

of satyrs and unicorns


Reason turns them into stones;

fear into swans with no water