Feb.9, 1999
The frost was biting my nose
and ears… and purple leaves
were dropping on the rails,
weighed by the crystals
of winter’s breath.
I was walking by the railroad overpass
as I always did when returning home
from my art class and my ears
and nose burnt by frost.
I was walking home
and wished I had a hat.
Dusk began to cuddle
against the window sills
and, as I approached the overpass,
I heard the familiar puffing,
puff, puff…puff, puff…
I looked up and…there she was,
this beautiful black body,
a dynamo virgin,
a power figure, carved by the steam age.
Frost bit the time,
allowed me to take in her beauty,
to take into my nostrils
her vaporized sweat
as she clanked her iron joints,
etherizing dead leaves
caught between the tracks.
A dog was sitting in the window
from which hung a dead pheasant.
White dog, a mud, watching
an iron mare with bright red star
welded to her forehead.
The frost was biting
black cat’s ears as she ran
just in time before the beast,
as time released the coil,
and the dog began barking,
but I don’t remember
whether at the engine, the cat,
or me…or that Christmas was coming,
and I ran happily home.