The beast arrives stealing the emptiness of the curving station,
wind, whispering secretly,
stirring up sleep infused leaves
startled into wakefulness,
Gravity doesn't secure everything.
the quiet lifts bird like wings,
yellowed by the sun
throwing them at its evading form
converging in the dark of dusk
The moon hides behind clouds
in a gray collage of the sky
assembling for prayers.
There's poetry in the snarl,
paws revving up the heart,
heat stoked action of the fuel
fingering ice in tunnels,
the slip, slap, slosh
quietly melting inside muscled pistons
ejecting the expired breath
as winter welcomes the beast
in the waiting emptiness of a station.
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