Rails disturbing the dust of water,
the flickering tongue
of the lake licking the air for moisture,
rusted tracks echoing
into the hills- memories of trains riding
over the empty alley
of the draining pool; dry is the pool,
dry like concrete,
crumbling edges along the shore.
Long forgotten are the children ascending
swimming in the drifting waves,
disappearing into faded air, faded sun;
in the mud- drying clouds, the dust
the hidden rain, bone of water.
Its beginning is its end, empty silence
dawn of another day,
preparing for the heat and the wrinkled wind
into the tumble down earth, quiet voiced lake;
the serenity of the
rails is deliberate- yet long forgotten are the
sounds muffled under the lake.
Copyright © 10/02/2016 lance sheridan®