A station some find

 In the dim yellow light across from the train station
milleniums of contemplation
sat the old man stroking his beard
telling god to speak more slowly

In the dim yellow light of another millenium
all manner of travel
every concept of a path
racing toward some finish line

The old man's aunts and uncles
chewing the fat sipping the decade's tea
just outside of his place railside
as happy as these sickly sweet southern summer christmases

outdated in their clothes gestures smiles and even step
stained by a sun that never existed
he smiled out toward them
the backwards children about to be given a new life

Linoleum and plastic thread all up and down the walls
a free space outside his tidy sunlit cabin
infront of the tracks
The center of spirituality was never inside a church
nor a temple for you rule obsessed prunes

No the real flow of god exists in the symbolism of railway tracks
Everything that moves is angelic he said
on his third or fourth life
hundreds of years ahead of me

laughing in weeks as I do in minutes or mere seconds
Making his way to the central station there
funny how no trains were running
and every passenger desperately sprinted to where they were going long ago

and more countable in earth years
nodding at the mountain
nodding at the flats
Father watch these steps
father watch these steps