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Desolate Landscape
The tracks run over the hills all rust
run over the hills across the plains
they trace their dead fingers in the dust
and they gape back down across the moors
to see where the station was
The path runs under the trees, dry bends
runs under trees through twigs and leaves
the path once manned can’t understand
why wheels are abandoned in the dust
and where have the drivers gone
The sea runs ashore, wild waters rise
run over the sills and under the doors
nor mould nor crows nor crumbling walls
are disposed to remember how it was
The brine and the dust, the crows, the stones
don’t really care about tracks or bones
© Johnmichael Simon
2010
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