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.

Already have an account? Log in

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.