Freight Train

Laying the freight train storm through whizzing

Blurred containers swathed in graffiti

As the countries of origin stamp behind my eyes

The tracks feel like they could obliterate abruptly

Limited threshold of construction in the cross ties

The wood and steel, the hammer’s sweat applied

The contents could be Brazilian or Russian

Dutch or Italian, brown or green when uncovered

Restless nights in feckless worry

Sweating through spent sheets of ink

Debating if the clocks of arrivals and departures

Are correlated to a watchmaker

Tick, stop, map, heat in the rails for the grind’s kinetic sting

Sensing the absence of the whistle may be the train’s memories

Of the ravines and unhinged tumbles before

Slow to say the metal has the agriculture of the Earth

Mother’s milk and fruited beds, the shepherd’s flock and textile slips

The painted walls and tumble to speak through the rubble

Faith in proceeding towards the sound of a human voice

Below the rebar and concrete placemats

Guts to show up with a ticket and collect the freight

Not knowing the burdens born from departure to destination

Speak and be, speak and be