Like a Train.

Ash that spirals in the air
Will go on to settle
By the unmoved stones of
Iron tracks.
You dip your eyes against
The ash,
And the glinting of a
Window in cold morning light.
The train twists like a snake,
Thundering.
Scattering the ash by the stones.

The ants panic, like they
Don't know
Any better.
As if this doesn't happen...
Every
Six
Minutes.

You swear that you love this,
The cold existance,
The long-limbed
Women with well-built
Men, But your mind
Lingers for a moment on
The scorching heat of the
not-quite desert,
And a
Snake
That twists through the grass.
Like a train.