61.

The way trains move, poetry moves

Or trains move me to poetry: this isn’t

An idle claim but has been true since

I can remember. How we move is like sap

Or wind, depending, and words that move

Need care for the reader. This train slaps

Along the track, sometimes it is air

And the ears fill and void as on a flight.

Lovers are trains — we were like a train

And although youth. I’ll stop there:

To get to the bottom of things is not

To depress. We pass through a flooded wood

The symmetry of leafless trees still, reflecting

Various shades of the sky in and of themselves.