A bay window by the side of a viaduct.
The dark cliffing of trees behind warehouses
in the abandoned places.
Night still there all these years.
Those sentences from long ago –
untouchable as stillness curving on the
railroad tracks.
The walk forever without destination.
No place to get off an old train alone.
The victorian houses rise like smoke.
The distant McDonalds glows.
edgar oliver 