Streamed upon the open tracks
There was a being of short form
Gas, like, amalgamous
There was it still being one

It’s teeming about, in carriage, in seat
There, was its permeate; a thing of few need
Suggested in subtle, like-preenster supine
There, being now presently undone from time

Every eye meeting back and glancing fore
To this creatures past in another train car
Attempting, and so far failing to judge
The smoke and the rain of its body language

Exits, its— and so much more entering—
Shiftily greeting the sights it’s still mesmerizing
Locking our looks, but it floats there, and free
And, later down rail then, it stands in marquee

Existing, it is imminent in illusing that
It is mistily fixing whatever paradox pours out
There will be naught to worry which clouds are sat or stay
When they’re out in locomotion, out into our everyday