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.
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