Brass on green broadcloth,

bone on bone,

blood on blood,

red rivulets reflecting

in the broad rim

of the rising sun

down the shining peaks

of the receding

Sangre De Christo,

and the misty snow breaths

of night-time storms

clinging to the breast

of the peak named Pike’s

disappearing in the distance

until finally he stands

in the steel-gray steam

on the rusty hard form

of the home of the railroad’s

risen soul away

from Carson’s culture

in the freezing crisp air

of a Denver platform.

And home, where is home,

the blue eyes wearily beg

from the pimpled face of youth

beset with the stone depths

of ancient age,

the Rockies rising unanswering,

not in the screams and cries

of deep, green jungle canopy

so far away,

yet close in memory,

but here in the unyielding hardness,

on the  broad, gray steel form

of the railroad’s Denver platform?

Black shoes shined,

brass on brass,

foot on iron,

bone on bone,

blood on blood,

chill on chill,

cold, deep cold,

the flat metal unyielding,

home no home,

but the heart

of deep, abiding weariness,

sweet, bitter death

of youth

lost in the steel

where others brush by

on the railroad’s Denver platform.

Yes, the metallic sheen

of the Kansas City-bound

cold Denver platform,

blue-gray pigeons and black starlings,

scrounging for final crumbs,

in the dirty, refrozen snow slush,

bye, bye, the children sing,

no tears to the step up,

the reflection in the thick glass,

steel wheels beating

in rolling rhythm,

leaving mountains, jungles and youth

behind in misty memories,

headed up the broad backbone

of the Great Plains,

low gray sky

with blowing flakes flowing

over the red lathe snow fences,

where jack rabbits huddle,

warm bodies together

in the lee side shelter,

no friends here,

the nose still against,

the ice-fogged window.

But far away,

yes far away,

blood on blood,

bone on bone,

they wait

in the place called home,

the scent of their hair,

the warmth of their bodies

in embrace,

far away from the weeping.

Can he turn his heart

around the other way,

ribs popping and grinding,

blood rushing,

the organs falling

into new alignment,

perhaps a tear to answer theirs?

Can he remember,

can he recall

the youth and joy,

blood on blood,

bone on bone,

beyond the cold, gray steel,

hard unyielding,

frozen in time,

a life left behind,

crying without weeping,

in the chill of the railroad’s

Denver platform?

 Copyright 2008, Jerry W. Engler