Achilles Horses

Balios and Xanthos
mute in paper garlands 
draw tourists once 
around the park 
(they have to be 
their names chime
like something 
you might need 
more of 
to restore perspective
help you sleep 
a whole night 
even while grieving
the stranger
who’s peeled 
his heart that 
centerless onion 
interleaving layers 
of terrible sad terrible 
his dry heart 
no longer expects
to hear his name 
spoken in a glad voice
the old old horses 
flow toward the west
looking for a place 
to stop time 
huge tearless eyes 
tell how small 
the world 
& empty 
how it rolls away

Published in Menacing Hedge