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by Cat Sellers

with his smile
a man
gentle as
his voice
intimate
with power
to kill
revealed
a part
of his soul

riding my bike
at two
in the morning
owning the city
where white horses reign
the streets emptied now
of digital flashed
instant
future memories

ever present
spirits of the past
taking over
while history escapes
through locked museum doors
spilling
across the cobblestone

only the cry
wrenched
from a drunken heart
of the lonely hunter
suspended
in the sky

the shadows
of white horses
fade
in the morning light