762 Readings | 4 Ratings

Tracks

I held the portrait of the train in my hands,
a shot from the tracks, the train approaching me,
the tracks stretching toward me in a widening V,
inverted, ending at the lower corners of the frame,
where my hands and arms extended the tracks’
reach into this world, where nothing is frozen,
not even what’s frozen: it breathes and melts
while the train keeps its inevitable course, the flow
of its steam joining clouds like a stream
from a spigot on the other side of the world
joining a pond, blending with the atmosphere
reflected in its surface, smoother and deeper—
intractably altered—in its growing center.

Posted 03/27/09
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