boys wander blind along
the railroad tracks
seeing only the next trestle
iron eyeless engines
bearing down
wailing whistles and women
in mourning
in morning’s
light i wake, dry-eyed and emptied
left out by the water barrel,
the dipper, the drinking gourd frosted and
biting our lips
that dream of flight gathers
grey dust under your bed
you spook at my footsteps,
at any footsteps more solid than a ghost’s.
i pray for the earth to catch at your heels,
a moth pinned to its corkboard
a dried moth that blooms
back into life.
