Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Rock Road 35A

Two weeks ago when I went running,
the only thing between me and three black bulls
was their perception of the fence.
Staring at my hands, knuckle to palm,
I said out loud, This is just matter.


This morning I hear
the quiet swish a horse makes
rolling in the hay.
He sees me, so he stands with dignity
to watch me from the field.

A mile or more away I hear
repeated horn blasts
and turn for home, sure in the knowledge
I cannot know it's calling me, or run
a mile or more up hills in time
to answer.

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