Alphabet of Days (5)

5.

Etched swirls, white on blue,
have no memory of the night
with its burst of sparks along
the railroad line – grind of steel
on steel and lumbering motion
of shadow, a world I can’t get to
from the highway – the forgiving
air breathing its heavy reminder
of love – some places are well-lit,
crowded, afraid – some are dark,
beautiful, a throb of fireflies
against a hushed wall of black