THE TRAVELER AWAKES. HER TRAIN AWAKES: A Poem

(She dreamt too much. She dreamt too
much and worried.)

A man balances cocktails
On a cart balancing on wheels

Above wheels. It is all in motion—
The cart, the train, the earth

As it fiddles with its patterns.
The lights flicker. And so she awakes.

Deep breath. She and everything is
Still around her, around her red lips.

She is no traveler, no broad image
To be watched. She is no portrait.

Night wraps the train like a mitten.
She awakes. Her fist closes

Around a moth, its dust shook-shooking
An invertebrate panic

Impossible to see. She’s no moth.
She is stillness. She is a train in the dark.
          Seeing

 

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