I woke to find the gate open and the horses gone
and I thought, “What haven’t I given you?”
Dawn was drying the gravel on the road;
the bridle I carried clinked against my knee.
They hadn’t gone far. They stood at the corner
where the road turned toward infinite places
and raise their heads from their grazing to watch me.
I walked toward them, falsely confident,
like a teacher, unable to disguise
the nature of my duty.

The big roan played a vital part in my success,
turning his ears forward as he smelled sugar,
two white, pure, perfect cubes. And then,
because he had so often done so, he accepted the bit.
I drew him out of the ditch, two legs leading four,
seventy pounds leading seven hundred,
and the other horses, sighing and snorting, followed.
It looked as if we’d been on some field trip,
saw how money was made, or how trees
are stripped and turned into toilet paper.

That morning I thought myself lucky
and the beasts immeasurably foolish
as I led them back. All in the gate locked,
I pulled the roan’s head down to me
and slipped the bridle off, and he nipped me,
nipped me with his huge teeth, yellow as corn,
near my ear, and bolted into the pasture.