Notes on Transience
Yesterday I saw the train pass beneath the 10th
street bridge
beside the shadowland
homesteads and the tin can hearth.
The steamroll of
industry humming along beside
the fraternity of
waiting. They wait for it to pass,
for something to
pass,
time, trains, the
water just passes and passes down the river,
the people they pass
on their way, lost and found,
everything goes
beside the aqueduct shadows where the hopeful
souls hide, waiting.
and I wondered,
whom does the train
hold? Where are the coal-dust pirates
and the silent
mutineers of the freight car vessels?
Maybe one day they’ll find a home,
Like an arrow
striking the forest floor
empty handed and
broken
relieved.
Or maybe home is the clack of the car, the thrill of
discovery,
the musty dank of the
cargo train revelry,
the joy of the
constant destination.
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