Haines Eason | POETRY

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Eye of the Horse

 

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                                    To the fence

            Comes a mass—muscle.

 

                    Evening falling red

                    Unto purple fields,

                    Of black trees, from blue roads.

 

            Symbol of your own death,

            Walk together in your parts :

 

                        Veil of flies over

                           Bloodless withers—

                  Slave of kings and broken men.

 

                 For some other’s sake,

                  To make a new self of

           

            The self. In orange burning out,

                           A contrail, a comet.

                     In the blue become black,

 

                  A train glides on wheat.

 

            How am I you, and you, me?

            In the paddock of the moon,

 

                 In his glowing house,

 

                        Your owner loads his rifle.

 

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            I gave you oats from my pocket,

            You gave me a door in the field.

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