rust

on the railroad tracks that latticed town, 
there grew rust from lack of use. 
the ghost trains carrying left shoes & wedding veils
did nothing to mark the tracks. a train in use
shines the rails silver from motion. sometimes
a train rushes my spine & i rattle like an urgency.
there is not enough time. there are midnights coming. 
i try so hard to balance between despair & craving;
walking with my arms airplane as i went. 
my friends & i would take each other's pictures there
on the old tracks. teasing, we told one another 
"move there's a train coming!"