In the distance (where we always are)
a train horn wails. It is a lonely

sound like a renegade wolf from
some far off hill. Both are calling:

one to warn, the other to will itself
into the consciouseness of others.

This time there is an answer though
its language is foreign. Steel

and fur are not so different. When
we are born, we know how to cry;

our relationships are real and pure.
As we get older, more silent pauses,

introspection that leads to guile.
On a bed in Kansas, I hear coyotes

a mile away, the whip-poor-wills,
the crickets as they strum their legs

and in the distance a train horn.

1 comment:

matt at shadow of iris said...

Very beautiful, as always! Thank you.