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Posted on 02.14.17 by VoiceCatcher

by Suzanne Sigafoos

Willow song: egrets listen
and the mossy bank, too,
angled, strewn with
forget-me-nots, thousands

of blue eyes look up
to the trestle’s tremble,
rails reaching back to 
the station where a lover

runs next to the train
- you saw that movie,
you’ve been the runner -
pistons turn, slow at first

then billows of steam;
song of the shovel, the coal,
fire, velocity. The Iron Horse 
cleaves the air:

coast winds left, gorge
winds, right; Mistral, 
Sirocco, Santa Ana 
whistle through needles 

of pines at the timberline
as the green, green eye
watches you sing:
love, here I am, find me

and love finds you, or
it doesn’t; either way, your
next song is: oh, let me 
live through this storm.

A hawk, at meadow’s edge
is poised, keen to sing
headlong, into tall grass.
Dune grass. Sunset.

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