Ghost Riders

Poem By Leland James

Wild horses on the moon,
great silver beasts
18 hands high,
hooves of steel,
breath white as snow—
Gone.

Wiped out
by rocket men
who never knew
—did not believe,
did not imagine—
they were there:

rocket men,
whose forebears
riding silver horses
(on the covers
of slick magazines)
now haunt the silent moon.

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