Poem

STEAM TRAINS

We are born steam trains

and with each passing year

and each past experience

a freight car appears out of nowhere

trailing behind us

attached by a smell

or the sound of a record

And within each freight car

remains the first time you made love;

the last time you saw death;

the first time your mother held you;

the last time your father kissed you

When we are young

the load is light

so to look ahead is the only option;

as looking back seems so senseless

but with age

we become curious about the weight

the brilliance

the spectacle

In the wide expanse under a blown out moon

when the tracks bend north

with a slight turn of head

we are able to see the growing cargo

snake through the hills

an accordion full of sound

Silent in the night