Train Goes By

If you look past your face’s reflection in the train window, it’s only a glimpse but takes a lifetime to see the dry, hoof-beaten straw for grass, and how it wrings your eyes of all moisture, while the sprinkler, spread the width of the field, flaps its metal wings in your mind because when you curse your eyes along the top of the heavy metal bird where metal hooks arch forth for the insert of the water hose, all you can see is farmer Jed’s body slung from the heavy metals bird’s clutch like an old brown eagle that once had ideas about heading for greener pastures along with its prey.

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