3746. STEEL THAT BENDS

STEEL THAT BENDS

Rails stretched over the land, taut and

sloppy together; the rise, the hollow,

the flat plain. Steel that bends by never

bending, alters by not altering at all.

Upon the train seat, amidst raging noise

and a morning's fury, someone has left 

a book. A careless astronomy tome, no

less, and just as I am watching this Summer

morning's sun fat bob upward along a

fading horizon. I am watching at speed -

some train-pace never marked by numbers,

so I know ever not how fast it be. 

Past tree, past tree, past tree.

-

The astronomy book, so heavy like

a brick, sits mute in reference to

anything real. This train is pouncing

over the land. It is morning again,

'neath Heaven's celestial band.