Burnt rust on the tracks and the summer haze of hot breeze on metal junk roots

and coal black burns across this dry field.

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Where crackling gravel sounds split the silence formed by distant voices.

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Through this heavy scene the twig animal creeps to sniff the steel roots all barren and red.

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and then scuttles to its hobo shade of cardboard and split-glass sparkle in the noon glare.

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Invincible sun blurs all the contrasts and melts the day 

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of trains that do not come and will not again.

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Alex Brown

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