Wild Horses at Shackleford Banks

No man is an island, but animals are.
The ferry bellies up to the sand on the bar
and humans flock to admire feral horses
making do with primitive resources:
no Facebook, shoes, fast food or showers.
We delight for a couple of hours
in suspending sapience, playing a part
in putting the horse before Descartes.
We have leave to love it, because we know
we can leave every fifteen minutes or so.
Our ship comes in. We sigh, and get on
then go back to horses we can bet on.