My backbone is a black train.
I start on the grass. It moans for me.
It will lay down and burn for me.
You will see its smoke for years and years.
It will lay out in one direction
in the wind
yellow against the blue sky.
I will lick it with my sides.
It will not hold me.
It will fall away forever towards the mountains.
I will cross the river. I will come
to black trees. They will stare at me.
I will carry them. I will carry them.
I will carry them down
to the ocean. You will see them
gone white in the sun. They will be
quiet. Their eyes will float out to sea.
They will not know me. They will not know my name.
I will make a voice. It will be alone.
You will hear it all night long falling away
towards the west. It will carry you.
[Black Train] Out of The Third, Momo's Press (c) Beverly Dahlen, 1974