Fear of Trains

autumn rain is akin to black tea, the burnt yellow of old growth watered; a train shakes the fields like an old carpet snapping, birds shoot holes in the turbulent sky; the world is split like an apple, your head inside a bell... when it is over it is not over, the air hums with steel, too many eyes are in the undergrowth, evening`s calm as brittle as toffee, shocked from coal and smoke, a heartbreath along rails.