The train
to south dakota
and grandmother sits
on red plush seats
beside
her eldest son
at home he spends his hours
with his face against
the slippery necks of horses
at home
and
here
he cannot speak
he cannot speak the landscape
passing by the windows
or nights when view
becomes reflection
and other faces in the glass
mingle
with his own
he cannot say
the moon is in the water of
the ditch beside the tracks
so all through the journey
grandmother listens
to the abandon of the whistle
and listens day and night
to the wheels
beneath the train
which say
someone there will fix him
someone there will fix him
