We're Pieces of God & We've Found Each Other

 

 

The gates going up

and down like

gigantic windshield wipers

to let the existent

boxcars pass.

 

We went across these real

bumpy railroad tracks into

a town so

small there

wasn't enough room

for the car,

so we got out and went ahead

on foot

 

and passed a miniature fire

engine with a blue

siren because

they never had

big fires

in this town.

 

In fact everything

was so small

I didn't think we could stop

in time.

 

And a man said, as we passed by,

“You just don't want to

slow down, do you?”

 

Things were

just grey enough

as the sun started down

on its way

down ,

 

and a couple of birds

lurched out into the air,

and waited.

 

I don't remember

what time it was but

I don't think the hour

ever occurred

before.

 

It was bad enough

we couldn't remember its

name

and stood before the thing

embarrassed

as human beings.

 

Were we there

just to listen for

things like that

after all?

 

Life must lead

somewhere

mustn't it?

 

So we took off our clothes

and walked out

of sight.

 

And either our clothes

kept getting bigger

as we disappeared

from their collective

viewpoints,

 

or the hospitable

distance

took us in,

 

or something odd

occurred

(it was a small

town, you know)

 

because one day

even that dot on everybody's

maps

disappeared,

 

leaving maybe only an

ink spot

here and there

on some man's shirt.

 

And his wife would ask

“What's that?”

 

And he'd answer

after a hard day

at the office:

“Oh, that? That's

only a town,

a small

town, somewhere.”