Laid to Train

he lumbers this laid iron road
lingers like a slow freight train
en route to a route
that speaks
a destiny–less a destination

than a coming

less a becoming than a
wanting

pupils dilate, in a room of dark desks they wait
peep holes adjust, throwing mirrors and light to the middle nest
purples so true, walls hush and crush to violate hues
people with eyes and senses expect movements of lines

almost horizontal, this stream of pieces
as if the world is slowly receding
it being laid down in a way not unlike
the way i was laid into in third grade
or the way my grandma was laid to rest
or the union pacific and her untold slaves

the sun has run its course and again clocked out on the other side