Tracks Take 2

by Irina Petra Husti-Radulet

My book of Blake slid unnoticed into the tracks.
As the train skidded in, I climbed on, unaware.
Later, as my fingers rooted for it, too sick of watching
The landscape blur stickily by, I noted my loss.
I pressed my forehead against the lukewarm pane, and thought.
Thought of the pages slicked back with wind, welcoming
The train rushing in, and the spine
Cracking like a bolt of elastic from the wheel-chopped sheets.
Pages fluttering like the wings of fat, clumsy pigeons-
Maybe strangers will pick up scattered shreds of Experience, and
Revel in reconstructed Innocence.