Your Horses
After Ted Hughes
Out on the moors in the late June light,
I stood where the infinite hills halved the sky
and saw where you first saw your horses.
Were they left over from a fever dream,
dropped momentarily from some other planet?
But in that instant, they existed: ten of them,
megaliths with draped manes and tilted
hind hooves; each utterly silent, unmoving
in the icy morning air. As you passed by,
the big sun erupted, darkness shook open
and showed you its fires.