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