Horses sleep standing.
In the dog-throat dark predawn they smell, hear, sense me.
Primal fear un-blurs their shapes from the black and they run,
oh, how they run.
Hooves thunder, lightning screams tear the limpid air
With no sight to steer they circle,
Me, gyroscope-frozen in their gimble
Them, centrifuge-driven in their heart-bursting dread,
their heart-bursting dread.
Morning whispers her ease, sings the black to grey
Five-sensed again our pulses drop; there’s no danger here, she says
there’s really, truly, no danger here.