THE TRAIN RIDE AWAY

Dragged from the sunset

So cleanly I wish I had claws

To dig in to the horizon,

Or for the train windows

To lose their glass

So the wind can teethe a goodbye out of me.

 

The land writhes against gravity

To warm its skin

On the last embers of winter sun

Sprawled across the clouds

Like red hair tangled through bedsheets:

The weekend rolled up into a tight absence

Coiled inside my lips.