The horses of Bonavista pick their deliberate, delicate way
between sprawled stonepiles, graze between stone shelves.
Scrawny, shaggy, still dazed by the thin spring sunshine,
they ignore the elaborate, massive icebergs passing offshore.
The drifting crags, the lofted dazzle of antique ice, are common:
a great, green, summerspread maple might well spook them.
-Richard Outram
