Keeping an even speed,

I sing to myself

and think about stopping,

perhaps by a stock pond,

hoping to photograph cattle,

or the wind on the pond,

or nothing.

 

The white horses appear so suddenly I forget

I've seen them on this road before.  Once,

driving at night, I would have hit one

but as I turned a shallow curve

my headlights lit its neck

and it glowed

translucent as a Shabbas candle in a darkened room.

 

Today, there are three of them.

Standing like three ghosts next to the trees,

they swing their tails while they watch me drive by,

 

and I take a breath and know

that if I'd only stopped

and held out my camera,

I would have stayed

in unconditional surrender.