Eclipse of the Moon
Train of Thought
a poem's a locomotive.
immediately you have made
the decision you are picked up
still moving. Inside you are still
while the machinery carries
along, louder without than within.
you all know what it looks like, fast
and linked and black, and all the same
because of speed. Correct, too, and
invisible, since from outside
it might be the same one each time,
and from the windows outside looks
like inside, so blurred, except when
reflections false the distant hills.
you're carried along, wondering
what you are, and free to, since