Train

Rolling over little lines drawn
on the world, the hills
is being known by the dusk and dawn
that lie over the plains.
Dawn and dusk are parallel rails
holding a chugging train
and being alone here quickly pales
the frenzied life.
It hardens the muscles and sets the jaw
callouses the hands in the sun,
burning one side through the window,
crystallizing a road consciousness.
Broken down to the bare pieces
trying to find the way home
The loneliness of these old desert trees
is perfect, perfectly whole.