Sunday, April 17, 2011


They creak and sway, ancient tuned 
forks pitched to the language 
the steel of the track 

oblivious to crooked stones 
in parallel graveyards 
or the choke of wildflowers 

between live rails 
signals play witness 
to rail-riding tramps 

stoic conductors 
guardians of velocity   
they orchestrate commands 

observe the curved moon 
turned like a Grandmother’s hip 
bent to reap and sew 

measure the length of ghosts 
by the weight of a whistle 
as a slice of sun sets over iron backs 

we stand - watch the signals spin 
very much in awe 
of what just blew by

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