If souls inhabited machines

Standing in the morning sun
they wait, patiently
as Alexander’s horses
would have done.

Well-proportioned
as a draughtsman’s dream,
they’re dressed for work
in oilcloth-smeared Brunswick Green.

I ride across their path
as ghosts emerge
from long-forgotten photographs.

Which sets me thinking...

If souls inhabited machines,
you’d find them resting by the depot
in this phantom scene.