The rails shriek over here
Pass silver-eyed birch
bordering lush cornfields,
defining amber wheat.
Hey Maria,
in the northern forests,
pines tall and trim, are well-kept like a fine beard.
Young soldiers of time,
Standing guard for the mill.
I saw again, this memory of man.
Paths met at an alone tree.
Giving him the slip line,
a friendly gesture of
spinning legs.
Between these youngsters summer’s rays
fall onto luminous blueberries.
Then, clouds gather and mist lies about.
Historic remains.
Freedom runs, out of sight. We kiss goodbye.
Ghostly, raw bricks.
A crooked door leading underground, exposing
where, during occupation, feet once trod.
No longer spinning to the beat.
Five becomes four, to battle the wind
that rusts neither brick nor star, red.
Kissing goodbye. We once argued, about seeking life.
Swallow the moment and ride on by.
For we are the new
but forget not through these pines
the past lingers.
Along rocking tracks
I share these thoughts with you,
no longer in the pines but wheat fields.
Land too once occupied.
Inexperience-able
for I the occupier.
