Train wheels clack, tearing apart
the stream of now: Now I feel their faces
on my palms, my cheeks on their woollen coats.
Now they are whisked out of sight,
two small figures beside the curve,
the great shining curve of railroad tracks
shining back to the Pacific, curving
forward to the Atlantic. I, on track,
slide like a bead on a thread back to them,
forward to here where bare, brown fields
slide by leading me ahead to my life.
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This is such a lovely, sensual poem. The cheeks on the woolen coats, the 'faces on my palms.' I love also the imagery of the shining curve of the tracks stretching across the country, and the narrator like a bead on the track. Just beautiful!
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