Summer 1965 • Vol. XXVII No. 3 Poetry |

Observation Car and Cigar

Tranquility as his breath, his eye a camera that believes, he follows rails that only last one trip, then vanish. (Suppose America tried and then was the West once more, but this time no one found it? He has felt that much alone.) Remembering with smoke, he uses the haze as authentic (the authentic loves not kept for display fade authentically and become priceless, never to be exchanged). A silver evening light follows the train silently over a great bridge. Like a camera that believes, he follows an arch into faded authentic scenes that bring something presented again and yet all new: traveling, our loves are brought before us and followed securely into a new evening.

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