Sometimes, it sounds like
they are singing—
like willow trees, fingers plucking,
pulling steel harp strings,
miles and miles long,
stapled to the countryside
by iron fingernails.
JKolasch
speculative fiction / contemporary poetry
speculative fiction / contemporary poetry
Sometimes, it sounds like
they are singing—
like willow trees, fingers plucking,
pulling steel harp strings,
miles and miles long,
stapled to the countryside
by iron fingernails.
JKolasch
Jacob Kolasch 
Love the imagery; I listen to the trains at night, and now I will hear their singing more clearly…
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Trains do sing these days. But they did not always. Once upon a time, they roared.
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