Her Kiss With Her Voice

Horses I drive your horses. When I’m done, they’re a lathered herd of mares pushing out their foggy breath like a freight train on a cold morning. I divide in two, then as you watch me, as you hold me, I become invisible and burst through your body like summer’s heat lightning in your brain. You held me in your guardhouse for twenty-three years, until one by one, I found a song for every guard, left them sleeping, or watching me with lazy morphine eyes, heard them tell me with lumbering lips to pass by, she’s waiting with horses.