II

4 0 00

II

Two⁠—twofour⁠—twoeight!

Porters in red hats run on narrow platforms.

This way ma’m!

—important not to take

the wrong train!

Lights from the concrete

ceiling hang crooked but⁠—

Poised horizontal

on glittering parallels the dingy cylinders

packed with a warm glow⁠—inviting entry⁠—

pull against the hour. But brakes can

hold a fixed posture till⁠—

The whistle!

Not twoeight. Not twofour. Two!

Gliding windows. Colored cooks sweating

in a small kitchen. Taillights⁠—

In time: twofour!

In time: twoeight!

—rivers are tunneled: trestles

cross oozy swampland: wheels repeating

the same gesture remain relatively

stationary: rails forever parallel

return on themselves infinitely.

The dance is sure.