New York Lindsey
Watching and Eastbound Freight Train from My Northerly Window
It's so late now the street signals
have turned to blinking. There isn't
time for wordy sentences. If leaves were
in the trees, they might have something
to say. I would surely listen.
The occasional car on I-90 slips past
this dying city like a yawn. All I have
is this window and the static of night.
Three engines and thirty-two
boxcars so far. The average
is one hundred. Will they stop
in Missoula or continue
on to Chicago? A moving mile
of metal drives me. I feel the clank
of wheel and track, the screaming
steel. It is more hopeful at this 3 AM
than waking at dawn.
(Poetry inspired photography based upon Dan's chapbook, Following the Day)