Horse and Train
Horse of iron, horse of flesh,
Each suspended in their track,
There’s no forward, there’s no back
And the space that lies between
Will never widen or decrease,
Nor will their motion ever ease,
Nor force disrupt their equipoise.
Each committed to their course,
There is no train, there is no horse.
The grasslands grow and do not grow,
There is no cloud, there is no smoke--
Just paint. And light. The brush’s stroke.
Though always in your mind you see
The two collide, the dark horse rear.
There is no swerve, there is no fear
Except your own.
You are the beast, you are the brake.
You are the dream from which you wake.
Lisa McCabe lives in Lahave, Nova Scotia, Canada. She studied film at York University and English Literature at University of North Carolina, Greensboro. She has published poems in The Sewanee Review, HCE Review, The Orchards Poetry Journal, and Limestone Review among other print and online journals.
The Ekphrastic Review
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