No more
excuses left—
Saint Paul here she comes now
riding the Green Line LRT
at last.
train
Glass Plan
To run a marathon, write
a book, publish
a poem, make
love to a woman, join
a commune, find
a home, see the world,
to call it a day
is to spin my own
epitaph on a 3 x 5
note card, index
my breath, become obsessed
with chasing my own
past, is to take
a long ride on a train.
Drift—Or Curse of the Smiling Eyes
Slip on ice but don’t fall
down. Seventeen more
days. We want a preview.
If I were a train,
I’d be local
and mostly underground
till I’m not. Sub or el—either way
I’d move people more
than I could ever move you
or me into tomorrow’s
shades of the unstratified.
Museum as Verb
She prefers student
over teacher, says
inspiration is
elusive. No one
would settle without
water nearby. It will all shift—
the more she learns
the less she knows
why
call this—or this—
home. On these days,
she prefers
to board a train
to let go.
Fragmented
Sappho’s poems. Nick Drake’s last
songs. Tiger reserves. My memories, his,
that pier over bay
water. A hearse afloat. The underside
of a bridge. One car
on a train crossing
this river. The moon
most nights. Your love.
My faith. The sky itself.
Tiny Changes at the Last Minute
Accidents no longer
mistakes. Nothing
about buildings or fences,
not another bridge,
a scrap of graffiti rides
out on the 11:45 train. Her net
is small, her heart large. She just wants
to take a closer look
then let you go.
Was It the Best She Would Do? (Day 2,600: Take 2)
A stanza added
to three quiet ones—
it could become a record
of the commotion caused
by one silent train
rolling in, another one
about to depart.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 