1230
15.v.23
4.135
night train to Vatra Dornei
so much of
it is village dimly
the flat
lands
through
which one might wish
from the
city
bombed over
coup upon
coup
a dream of
the prince and the cheese
we are
leaving
it’s
motorbikes all night
it’s spirit
fuelled
robbed and
burned
now ruins
all are leaving
now away
from the crowds
in a little
compartment
hear only
the speech of steel wheels
all of the
nation is passing
as waves to
bear us
perhaps it’s
not sleep
but lay flat
like the land
a clatter
and rattle
north to begin
.
towers of
old smoke in a half dark
little yawn
and bigger
squeak, toot
keep on
cast of
shadows creeps through the cabin
could
perhaps call this repose
close and
cabin cosy
until the
mountains come
.
in through
an open window
the cow all
nine floors levitated
strange
signs on the wall for a child
take these
for a proof
the Romans laid
these Dacia tracks
this must be
the thousand year train
Wallachia to
Bukovina
beware the
barbarous Scythian
undoze
roll over
sit up and read
.
out there
night still
passing away like a country
the place
that was before
it is a
headlong thing
with our
tracks
and treeless
mostly till
.
first light
blossom
peach
birch
far pine
fine cloud
and coarse
a mess of
wires
cranes,
river runs
all the
industrial trackside leavings
and from
some windows
clothes hung
to freeze
so many
churchyards full of the gone
barns,
blooms and the first bird
a whole
world disassembled in someone’s backyard
the stolid
station master with his flag
now all the
colours come
smoke yet here
there too
.
the valley
opening, opening
sometimes
whole farms dance
the green
all greener than the hill is high
fences and
tracks leading where
tin tile timber
roof
crosses all
round
old walls
and yellow wells
the road
itself runs by
snow pockets
the furthest view
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