Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview

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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

the rhythms and the vehicle

go on, and just when you've thought it

all out, knowing somewhere the time

is almost up, destination

almost stopped, the desert field stands

in front, beside, the decision

has come to an end. then, lightened,

you descend, greet the friends who look

nearly the same, and in their light

intrepid exciting new place

almost forget that you travel.


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