Throwback Thursday: ‘Stone Horses’ by Darrell Lindsey

I chant her name at the gate,
hear something fire (or backfire)
in the deformed distance,
try to spotlight guards & old dogs
out of their antebellum slumber.
An escalating wind stings
like the whiskey on her wounds,
and fallen angels rock back and forth
on the porch, laugh at her life
as if it were a bad poker hand
with all the chips in.
Only stone horses
in the meadow
run with abandon,
carry the weight of her wails
on their polished backs.