Jonathan Carlson, The Train Passes Slowly

Desire will come of waiting

[…] And evenly it will pass.

-N. Scott Momaday*

Pain will come of waiting:

the rails know this and ache

as the engine drags boxcar after boxcar

doggedly over them until

sweat ekes out,

white frost

in January’s black cold.

Slowly, so slowly

the train passes, creaking

its metal bones, stomping

its metal feet

and I watch, numb

except in thinking of the rails.

*From "Anywhere Is a Street into the Night" in the collection In the Presence