from the speeding windows

there are no more old-fashioned locomotives
puttering slowly across the countryside
the sunset has disappeared
not behind billows of engine smoke
but low hanging clouds
oppressing my voyager’s heart…
soggy puddles mar vast green meadows
miniature lakes for ducks and bullfrogs
in the silent gloom where
not even birds chatter safely
perched high among naked grey trees
such is the desolation of late winter

suddenly rich brown toiled fields appear
chocolate and russet tartan patterns
though no blue pierces the continuing
conquest of the rain
I sense a transitory joy
imagining the tractors
and farmers in red checked shirts
planting the seeds of tomorrow’s hope

modern high-speed trains
swiftly criss-cross
the landscaped patchwork
linking artificially luminous cities
where liveliness seems affected
and men and women expect destiny
to spare them this wet inconvenience…
from the speeding windows
I am content to view
the advent of spring
with dry feet




from the speeding windows
[2007.4.3…c]