_78. Untitled

On a canalside bikepath
hardly a better interruption
than an idle Shetland pony
could grace even a Dutch
master’s landscape.
He (she? Ignorant in the business
as I am, who knows) casts two
supremely lazy eyes up the
path, enough to stop me,
to debate and finally succumb
to the desire to touch, to
extend a tentative finger or
two towards that shaggy
shock of a mohawk sprouting
from his admirable head.
And, yes, acceptance: none
greater than the blink and
snorted breath of this
remarkable thing.