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