Twisting and straddling endless ruts
on tiny forgotten dirt roads
for miles and miles and miles
It was easy to believe
that civilization would
never be found again
Then upon a distinguished turning
into a narrow valley green
with sky so close it could be touched
and a meadow so green it almost hurt
Thereupon, a pounding, rollicking herd
of ghostly mustangs flew across
A vision of wild, taking breath with them
