of a train I can’t yet see—
distant whisperer
Two women smearing
lotion gossip on the train—faces, arms and hands
Wary of poop on
the beach I see angel’s feet—little child’s footprints
*
Under a full moon
shadows of bare branches mesh
on the frosty lawn
Nothing but sky through
the train’s windows as it leansthrough a long slow turn
Red cottage under
a giant wall of storm clouds—a birdless stillness
*
A fluttering ghost
in the darkened train window—newspaper pages
Three hawks circle slow
in the empty blue abovea scurrying world
Blue afternoon moon—
“illuminated clay ball”bright as any eye!
.
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