travelling companion

drawing birds onto their shoulders
writing stories on each other's backs
etching trains into the stone floor
and pushing each other down scratched tracks

its been the loss of everything common
they've nothing between them but distance and steam
losing what's lost all over again,
setting out paper boats to find the ink sea

twisting grass into, out of braids
its been in the mountains, the plains, the clear air.
its picking up stones to see how they weigh
putting plucked crowns on heads that aren't there.

writing around the clouds with sea-ink black
and grass-blade pens from under the sky
hell finds an outline in the scribbled tracks
but there's a pregnant lady sitting high
on a bench in the passenger car
rolling down the line.