Fear Of Trains Poem by Leslie Philibert

autumn rain is akin to black tea,
the burnt yellow of old growth watered;

a train shakes the fields, an old carpet snapping
birds shoot holes in the turbulent sky;
the world is split like an apple,
your head inside a bell;

when it is over it is not over,
the air hums with steel,
too many eyes are in the undergrowth,
evening`s calm as brittle as toffee;
shocked from coal and smoke,
a heartbreath along rails.