Ghost Horses


 Navajo crosses 

in the dark 

Lonely road 

Small flames 

against the desert 

I sit alone 

in the night wind 

and smoke 

Santa Fe 

is spread below me 

a handful of lights 

caught in the valley 

The Sangre de Cristos 

keep their silence 

They have seen 

what men do 

with love 

Whiskey leaves 

its warmth in my throat 

a slow burning 

after the swallow 

I think of him 

Love did not make it 

Neither did we 

There were throat punches 

Bruises 

Words we carried

Like stones in our pockets 

Still 

I loved him 

god I loved him 

Some nights 

I think I might live through it 

Some nights 

I think I might not 

The cigarette burns 

between my fingers 

Smoke rises 

and disappears 

into the black 

I envy it 

to become nothing 

so easily 

Beyond the city 

the mountains stand 

with the dead 

Their spirits 

are my only witnesses 

And somewhere 

inside me 

Two ghost horses 

are still running 

One toward him 

One away 

Both wanting 

to be free 

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