A Patch of Sky
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The Permanent Way
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The Permanent Way

This week’s poem with memories of sitting on a railway bridge as a steam train passed underneath. The permanent way, a railway term for the railway track.

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The Permanent Way


The trains that ran here
no longer can, though rails gleam
in the moonlight, and some say
they hear the sounds of steam
locomotives heading up the glen,
the creak of signals changing.

We’d sit on the bridge,
wait for the up, arranging
when to take a breath, when
to let the damp cloud of motes
envelop our bodies, clenching
the cry in our throats.

Get the timing off you’d fight
for air. Get the timing on
you became one with the train,
the phantom of iron
that woke you at night,
turned young flesh to something
approaching machine.
We are what we dream.

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