The train yard painting stands four feet by six, at least.
Listen here. It’s simple.
There’s a gravel railroad bed
a white clapboard shed (green vines creeping)
And three black fuel train cars
All under a pale sky with a corner storm.
We decided we need to have it, though
No wall in our home is big enough.
It will persuade
It will overtake
It will draw us through its signals
There will be a whistle and the slow whine of wheels
And we will be travelers, tic-tac-toeing,
Climbing the ladder ties, riding the spine
Through the wall, away, non-stop.