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.