at the line where sky meets prairie
the orange locomotive pulls coal cars
over steel rails, bisecting field & sky
a serrated edge I might peel
as if from a notebook, parchment
leaf left to drift, chiffon-like
into the muted overhead
winter tight in lockjaw grip.
I’ve learned, after all these years,
how to hear the rumble of its coming
through the soles of my feet
harmonics pulsating the air around
my ribs. only ever as it comes
but never as it goes.