(16-26 February 1989) after Alan Seeger
Waiting for the coming train before I cross the bridge, I don’t look away, as it rams my ears, chokes my breath, shakes the earth, moves the wind. I carry my bicycle on my shoulder across the bridge, squinting in the cold, against the sun through the trees along the tracks. Why move? Why stand firm? A hundred reasons— and none explain. None say why I’m the only one here. I can only guess why I believe, why I feel, why I think. Sleep impells me, then I cannot sleep.