As some attract lightning, and others midges,
I draw behind me a delicate rain –
hooves drumming lightly the steep, dry lane –
a confabulation of wall-eyed gimmers.
Thought of my thought, herd of my heart,
we jink in a flock, in a shoal, we turn.
The school bus – eventual, awful – passes.
The obstacle of a rolling tincan halts us.