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| diane klammer |  | 1. Train The train you pull is eighty times three hundred sixty five cars long and counting in a sequence gliding by in perspective clattering with every type of noisy scenery painting one lifeline of happenstance of temporary compartments filled with laughing voices carried squiggly pauses on the run thoughts fleeting new shoots flourishing cargo wondering why it passes so quickly on this dizzying ride not being able to keep track of wheels spinning fireworks clocks shooting upwards turning the earth around pulling for loved ones following wherever you go not just whistling Dixie but hard work puffing for survival rushing then coasting on moments of fun remaining the strong locomotive of your warm heart shining its light. 2. To a God Undiscovered (for Steven Dunn) Sometimes the earth moves quietly, filling in of sides of an embankment surrounding a hole, a darkening leaving little trace of what came before it. Can a crisis of faith be quiet? It is useless to shout from the mountaintops when the life underneath is too busy with its own living to pay you any mind. The bright columbines have no ears for comprehension while the deer just hear the noises Why? Why? Why? coming from your lips as your failed prayer. And the faithful are too set in their ways to listen at all. Yet, you the crier have discovered the uselessness of gathering in the harvest before knowing if the field has been tilled or the seeds have been sown. | |
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