counting 

when i was 7 or 8

we would get stopped at 
the train station in Lions 

& you would say

let's count the cars 

jostling-- hand-clapping 
bodies over tracks--

becoming film reel-- flickering 
light between the skeletons
of each train car-- 

locomotion across
our own vertebrae--

did you feel the horn
blare from somehow buried
in your throat like i did? 

stacks of maroon rusted beams--
wanderlust blue & mustard yellow box cars

1-2-3-
i would try to keep count
as they rushed by--

& i would always get distracted 
imagining myself running beside
a car with an open door--

back pack over my shoulder--
gravel grinning under my canvas shoes--

the vagabond in me running--
out of breath until i leap
grabbing a sliding door--

landing inside where the slats 
of the car breath with
a rush of missed destinations--

where do the trains go 
after they pass through Lions station?

through Fleetwood then right?

where we used to have a house
on Franklin street--

where there used to a 
the farm with the camel & the alpaca--

whose street light was plucked
loose from her forehead like
a crown jewel--

today we had to avoid 
main street as trucks dug into her 
asphalt pelvis-- 

i felt her double-yellow
lines aching through me--

but where does 
the train go after there?

does it follow me
back home?

invisible-- 

no--are trains too large 
to become ghosts?

counting, you would
mouth the passage of
each car--

25-26-27

how long is it?

i would ask before you
were done--

& yesterday as we waited
for the train at Lion station

i didn't remember to
count until the blinking
red light guard rails started
to raise--

arms above our heads--

a kind of white & red praise--

i wanted to ask you
if you had counted--

from the length 
i want to guess the
train might have been
30 or so cars long--

the basilisk--
tongue tasting the air 

as March drinks handfuls
of melted snow
from the creeks--

as the cows pay no attention
to our car coming
down noble street--

their stole their
eyes from stop lights--

un-blinking & godlike--

by i am still 
in the box car--

& you are still driving
home with an empty passenger seat--

will you tell them
your daughter ran away?

that she used to count
the trains as they passed by?