Quietly

Quietly

Pass by in a haze
The reins
And sunsetting rails
While trainyards coast
With their cargo
Into a million engulfed
Lines of oil.

The third rail
Is aflame.

In wide
Tunnels
Beneath
Hot snow
And tufts
Of warm,
Cottony soil.

Transformation
Is not revelation.

Harvestman’s
Oil suspended
In lanterns
On shepherds’
Hooks in the hollow
Below the trail
Light the way.

Glowing gravel
Paves a narrow
Road above
Passageways
And below a
Sonorous scape
Of saturnine dusk.

The wicks will
Not burn quietly.

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