i didnt think angels are real but they came anyway
in the form of three (three) feral ponies breaching
the grey dusk of august's 8pm (you know, when the
sun's gone down but the sky isn't done being light yet)
and the ponies (the ponies!) they picked their way through
the blackberry brambles and grazed upon the grass
of our campsite (i say our, though it's really their island)
and snorted warm breath into cool evening; a mare, a foal,
a stallion keeping an eye on the rest (three of them, total)
watching for dangers and so i don't move, except to wake Al
and whisper under my breath to him (look, sweetheart, look!) and as
i blink the sleep from my eyes, they (the ponies!) linger for only
a moment more before dissipating quietly into the shadows between
berries and i didn't think angels were real but i saw them anyway
and fell back asleep with the softness nestled in my chest, the softness
of being unnoticed by something so beautiful and wild.