On the Train From Amsterdam To Brussels
Roosters gather in a parking lot,
cackling and crowing.
A man is bent over in a field,
fixing his tractor. One long breath,
a yawn, a wide field with horses,
clusters of sheep beneath low trees.
We fly along a creek, short stretches of fence,
a dusty path, a boy on a motor scooter,
a tunnel, blackness.
A swan curls on a green pond,
a construction site is only half complete,
a windmill barely rotates in the misty sky.
Swirling white butterflies
dance in a meadow.
I think I see kudzu in the overgrowth;
I forget where I am.
How can the Holland countryside appear
so similar to the American South?
I could stay on this train forever
and always be happy.
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