Two Trains Meet in Syracuse

i In the midst of its millions of brothers, The rumble resounds Through the staves on their back.

ii And six take the lead In both lines of English dance. Three for ninety and three for more, Coerced many in single rows.

iii The top of my head is losing color. Chipped away by dust and rain

iv Dim as it can be, The yellow bulb can only see the gentle glow Of cousin Red just in front of her.

v Only a carcass of what remains, My limb lays splintered. With grass as our closest companion, The remains of a birch idly wait for spring, Reborn anew.

vi Concerted parcels pass Cramped, confined, A calliope of senders and recipients Unaware of the cardboard-treasured Journey vii Crossing the new Empire, Surprising engines across the State,

at X I stand my three legs and gaze with my owner’s eyes.

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