AGNI Online
  Subscribe      Donate    Stay Connected    Submit      About Us  

Come Back

by Chloë Honum

I can's see all of any horse at once.
They weave through twilight, in and out of sight,
as the sky drains of color, enters dusk.

The barn's a bloodstain on an ivory dress,
lost in the skirt, a spiraling red kite.
I can't see all of any horse at once.

Between us there is only field and dust
a fence and a shadow-fence. Beside me lightning
splashes the hillside, loosens it so dusk

can wring each soggy evergreen, unlace
pink threads of berries from the shrubs. I wait.
I can't see all of any horse at once.

The moon has flown, though in its place a husk
clings to the sky. The horses figure-eight
in single file. Through rain-sown drapes of dusk

I try to count them, climb up on the fence.
Their foreheads shine with pearly stars, ghost-lit.
I can't see all of any horse at once—
they multiply, and shiver in the dusk.


Chloë Honum’s work has appeared or is forthcoming in The Paris Review, Poetry, Shenandoah, and elsewhere, and was included in Best New Poets 2008. She received a 2009 Ruth Lilly Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation. (7/2009)

End of Article
AGNI Magazine :: published at Boston University ©2008 AGNI