Dusk is endless here, and you would love
these indefinite walks inside its long
red bottle. I sing alone
past black branches and white picket fences
to the corral that says, No Trespassing.
The brown horse has heard me singing
from down the road
so he brings the lightning on his face
over and nudges it under my hand.
Sometimes I know why I am not dead yet.
I still haven’t brought a human to the edge
of the fence. I know you love me.
I am not asking you to leave her.
forthcoming in Passages North