Through spotted,
sullid window glass
Through fleeting boxcar after car
Immersed in
stony faded sun
Weatherworn telephone poles
All peeling, limp, forgotten
Ever more content to rotting
Trodden fences, feeble boundaries
Hills' horizon close around
Windless hang the grasses now
Stillness, only, rounds the bales
No greater cause than seeing
Little needed there but
being
This passing screams an aberration--
The steel beneath has settled
home
The streaking shadow even so
And yet the
inner world defies
Defined in isolation
Neglecting
outer desolation
50 miles an hour Montana
Stubbled fields and foothills spread
So many blips between boxcars
Now another lonely station
Shut in once again we pass
Still silent
under spotted glass
September 26, 2001, between Wolf Point and Glasgow, Montana