it starts with a chug
a push of steam leaning into the next chug
more resolved even desperate
building momentum with each turn
three thoughtless words
leave the station blowing spiral exhaust
picking up sentences along the way

passengers climb aboard destination cars
riding click clack click clack lyric tracks
as they squelch an urge to peer ahead
for the blind belly-gripping corners
hiding morbid thoughts of finding themselves
somewhere in an ominous tunnel
with a villain from chapter 3

but they come anyway
paying good fare
with cash and unbartered time
reserved for such a season as this

infinite itineraries through
countrysides and comedies
mountains and mysteries
prairies and poetry
highlight endless whistle stop fantasies
predestined by curious minds
throwing line by line hypnotic leisure
into the rhythm of the wheels

beauty is revealed
through the picture windows of books

yet
in the midst of gorgeous landscapes

undreamt dismantling jumps
hardened steel guides in these words:

...I would have been referred to religion,
the cemetery where questions of faith are answered....

the pleasant journey
comes derailed on the slip switch
possessed of both genius and sadness
for cemeteries are only death if
they are the end of the vision

tombstones create blind men
of brilliant skeptics
when
Lazarus lives
the tomb is empty
and the end isn't

faith puts the train upright
setting the switches to forever
bypassing graveyards
and riding to the unquenchable light.