Sometimes the horses grazing
in the nearby pastures come to the fence

and we talk. Or I do, and they seem to listen.
Last night, the pastures empty,

I walked to the stables,
stood before one extraordinary body

then the next: massive, lean,
muscular, gleaming

as if just polished, muzzles
pressed forward as I approached,

and me too, pressing forward,
eager for another visit. In the dark

I have told the horses
my fears and dreams. Have told them

I am leaving soon. Said
hello, sweet to see you,

have reached out to them
as they gather close, wait in turn

to nuzzle. Someone has loved these horses,
who come near so readily

to calm a stranger
offering only the sugar

of her prayers. That we are never alone
is something I want to believe

and have come to believe, while alone,
deep in the night,

taking the path
that leads to the horses.