The Munsalvāsche Line
the not so desperadoes
waiting for a train
are not waiting
for this train
unlike myself
always waiting
for the next train
of any line.
so long as I can see it
or hear the low rumble
or the whistle's lonesome moan
it will carry me.
it will carry me
to a place I've always known
as far away as it is
immediately
at hand
a feeling inside
one can inhabit
something like
home.
This is the third pairing in Confluence, a series of poems written in response to original photographs.
I began writing these during the pandemic, using the pictures I was making at the time. I have continued this practice ever since, always writing in response to my most recent images.
I publish a new Confluence every new moon and every time the luminary dyad perfect a trine.