The horse gallops into the sun with a ghost on his back.
The horse like a memory racing away.
He is smaller than the butte, is smaller than the desert,
Is smaller than the sky.
A setting sun.
A broken leg
The man feels of his chest. Am I a ghost?
His lungs reply: You are the bravest stone.
O, how the sky stretches like skin above him!
He wonders that it doesn’t split at his voice.
Donika Ross is a Cave Canem fellow and received her MFA from the Michener Center for Writers. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in RHINO, West Branch, and Crazyhorse. She is currently a lecturer at Vanderbilt University.