BLACK HORSES
Black horses and gathered ghosts swim through sleep, forever grazing memory's dreams.
Read more →A son, pierced by war, craves his mother's pillow and lasting peace.
Is there time left
for me to say to her
Good evening Mom
I’m back
with a bullet in my heart
and that’s my pillow
I want to rest?
And Mom
if war knocks
say
he’s taking a rest