Friday, November 25, 2011


Jim Harrison


"The horses run around, their feet

are on the ground." In my headlights

there are nine running down the highway,

clack-clacking in the night, swerving

and drifting, some floating down the ditch,

two grays, the rest colorless in the dark.

What can I do for them? Nothing, night

is swallowing all of us, the fences

on each side have us trapped,

the fences tight to the ditches. Suddenly they turn.

I stop. They come back toward me,

my window open to the glorious smell of horses.

I'm asking the gods to see them home.

Songs of Unreason
(Copper Canyon Press, 2011)