shot glass
title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Guy Reed


 

Ghost

Through the at-grade-crossing in the fog thick dawn
a freight train creaks and moans its low whisper along the tracks.
A procession of empty cages carries dark space,
slipping north through the unconscious of sleeping towns.

A freight train creaks and moans its low whisper along the tracks,
clickity- long roll between the -clack, slow circle on a line.
Slipping north through the unconscious of sleeping towns
heavy mist absorbs higher pitch and shudders low along the ditch.

Clickity- long roll between the -clack, slow circle on a line,
Circadian rhythm, tomorrow's train is due on time, will you arrive?
Heavy mist absorbs higher pitch and shudders low along the ditch,
leaves detach and drift to lie undisturbed among the stones.