This horse chafes at the bit: it wants
no rider, only its own hard will astride
the saddle, urging the road to go faster,
the encroaching landscape to spin into a blur
greener than hummingbirds at the feeder.
Do you wonder why it always seems faster
coming back? Speeds clipped by cobblestones,
by stops and starts, false obstacles— why
does it take so long to get there?
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.