The locomotive steams on,
intruding silent fields
of sweeping pollen,
slowly through humid
summer haze.
Late murmurs
slow vibrations
of tiny wings
humming under heavy
idle heat,
dripping hot breath,
like dew.
The shadows and lights askew
darting in
slanted proportions just right.
Another dimension so real,
touchable.
While still reflections
make double-wide skies sleep
with deck lights on
and sheets cling infantile
for a kiss on the forehead.
