III. Drowning Horses

          She says she is going to kill

          herself. I am a thousand miles away.

          Listening.

                          To her voice in an ocean

          of telephone sound. Grey sky

          and nearly sundown; I don’t ask her how.

          I am already familiar with the weapons:

          a restaurant that wouldn’t serve her,

          the thinnest laughter, another drink.

          And even if I weren’t closer

          to the cliff edge of the talking

          wire, I would still be another mirror,

          another running horse.

          Her escape is my own.

          I tell her, yes. Yes. We ride

          out for breath over the distance.

          Night air approaches, the galloping

          other-life.

          No sound.

          No sound.