Just before we left, reading Keats
and after, the coal train drags freight,
hypnotised¦"Can death be sleep¦"
Tamed, for trance I recall steam;
if the Coke Express still goes
laden, from Detroit to Chicago;
anything; anything to syncopate
against the repeat of a heavy load,
the refrain of metal wheel on track¦
"Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream?"
I would wake and throw our
marbled eyeballs against the chicane,
they squeal up the grey stairs of the bridge,
look down, agog at the passing;
count the carts of the drag freight train,
the parting, and gone; I am still to wake
and hear the tracks of sound resonate.
~~~
On Death - Keats
Can death be sleep, when life is but a dream,
And scenes of bliss pass as a phantom by?
The transient pleasures as a vision seem,
And yet we think the greatest pain's to die.
How strange it is that man on earth should roam,
And lead a life of woe, but not forsake
His rugged path, nor dare he view alone
His future doom which is but to awake.
