Sonnet #307

When the trains came to this country

They blew holes through mountains

The tracks ran on blood and misery

And everyone cheered them on the plains

I imagine a country with no tracklines laid

No highways carving cliffs of construction

That rise above the grass sea and river braids

A place as empty of us, some dirt tracks run

A few old blacktops twisting from river towns

In one hundred years this will be how it’s done

When planes fly to coastlines and cities, and drown

Among the dust where people move on who had cheered

The mountains bear the scars a thousand years