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.
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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