The train: now I understand the buckling, the swaying beast
of it; the whole train judders as the uncertain serpent. My legs are ocean
forests beneath me, roiling at the whim of the railway waves. My hands, free,
free though some force propels this dumb inertia through the forests whose
hands are raised in praise, the eggheads, the fox-face pines staring up at the
sky enduringly.
And now the pines whisper their slow, long goodbyes, a
farewell a hundred miles wide, as green shifts into grey.
Not yet; I must not yet.
stolen, I know not
when
jailbroken, as it
were, from behind
bleached bars torn
apart
though what they found,
I know
I dream it even now,
haunting;
a wooden circuit
board, sundered
from its circuitry and
liquid wiring
chisel and knife,
carving into me
such beautiful things,
whittling down
a face in ecstasy,
a bramble crown
the whole of sea
echoing.
but enough is not
found
they sandblast the
image down
until nothing remains
but memory
and less of me, a
sawdust trail
remembering
The silhouettes of mountains approach as sleeping giants.
Are we the snake beneath their heels? I cannot ignore their gravity. Hoodwinked,
the tunnel, the wool drawn over my eyes and I am blind for moments before the
curtain draws back and soaring over everything – nothing exists but – the
snowcapped peak.
I’ve swallowed the heart of darkness, walked in the valley
of shadows, and I’m through – a crooked path though the shepherd’s staff
crooked my neck into greener pastures. I scarcely imagined such still waters.
Train trip to San Francisco was a success. There is a peace
aboard trains, and a community that isn’t present in aircraft trips. People
walked to other tables to participate in games with strangers, and as we played
bananagrams, our neighbors leaned over and offered helpful definitions of words
we didn’t know (had made up, Matthew), or asked us about the game.
Now, I’m sunburned (I’m actually rather shocked I got
sunburned. I almost never get sunburned), exhausted, and pleased. Mostly, I
think I’m a bit resurrected and ready for everything. Life’s a train, and at
every stop, things are exchanged – but not everything. And the views are
magnificent if you are willing to look out and see.
