I’m living while I’m dying in a paradox called life,
feeling the heartbeat of Earth through her thunderous squeals of steel, creaking, rolling, slicing, stomping, thudding, melodies so dear.
I see the open landscapes speckled in rolling green hillsides, in deep blue whispering lakes, in calm soft-spoken riverbeds, in the roaring blazes of blistering night, in white chiseled hillside bleached by sun, in dunes breathing reds and yellows. And through the yawning of wind, the stampede of rain and snow, the swelter of sun and the decadence of night, I see it all.
I see it all by train.