On Early Trains

By | 1 August 2015

(after Boris Pasternak)

Fields fade to mauve in the heat
through the window villagers
stroll what is there to kiss
everything you see melts to soft wax

you dream not asleep dreaming
of being asleep there is someone
sleeping here two black suns
scorching their lashes through their eyelids

sun-beams catch iridescent insects
the glass of dragon-flies the second-
class carriage full of comings
and goings like a clock­maker’s kit

you seem to be sleeping
in a vice of numbers
high above in amber the hands
of a clock dividing the air

noting fluctuations in heat
get up from your seat adjust
the clock lean out scatter the shadows
pierce the fug of the day

register yourself on its blue dome
your home your happiness sinking
down past the wreck of your dreams
happy people never help the clock

these two slept in its beams

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