by Lisa Alexander Baron

We are horses chomping at our bits in a moonless night stable with our sable eyes wide, searching, but still not finding. We sidle up to the warm coat of each other’s voice.  To touch each other’s face or neck ignites a small fire on our velvet skin, that leaves us warm, but broken. Our love too misty, too ghost-hooved to see with clarity, to walk at a clip for fear of falling, even on solid ground. These ocean waves today—a kind of would-be beat—yet miles away from a song’s refrain. Go, and I will watch your worn leather lead trail in the sand and gaze in wonder at the sun’s light, luminescent on the round of your back.

Lisa Alexander Baron is the author of four poetry collections, including While She Poses, poems prompted by visual art (Kelsay Books). New magical realism shorts appear in Your Impossible Voice, *82 Review, and Five On The Fifth. She teaches advocacy in writing and speech at Philadelphia colleges and works as a circulation assistant at a public library where she hears about patrons’ strange and beautiful reading habits.