Today there are horses bolting
out of the sun, towards us
in a snort of black heat.
Close your eyes and the likeness
of a sun remains somewhere, there
in the dark of your brain-eye, rising
in diagonals, the broken orange ring hangs
like a blacksmith’s glowing horseshoe.
All day the horses rushing out of the sun,
jostles of knocking legs throng forward—
it’s a force enough to impress on the eye.
Night, and the image fades out. Open
your eyes and look across the black sky
as a thousand stars rise in diagonals,
and out of each come the horses
and the tiny night suns spot your open eye.