Eclipse of the Moon by Mary Susanah Robbins - HTML preview
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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.