On the train ride home,
a gallery of ancient
archetypal faces
Chill November night—
huge cruise ships to Mexico
like floating cities
The growling buzzsaw
of someone’s Sunday project—
dogs fill the pauses
*
Heavy thudding clumps
from the wet bare bent branches—
a second snowfall
Suburban jogging—
patrol car rolls past almost
as slow as I run
We talked pleasantly
during a long air journey—
didn’t ask his name
*
Before we see her
her heels announce her—strutting
on the train platform
At dusk the grackles
swoosh over the lot, their wings
silver from the lamps
Alone at midnight,
I once saw lava pouring
from lighted buildings
*
“It looks like the trees
went to sleep and their children
all ran away…”
—a seven year-old girl, on late autumn
.
