how the words are pressed down flat
as trains under snowclouds with a same
thin urgency none of the breaking forth how
we want to hear them lift out of this tunnel
of a barometric stifle how into some flood
downhill to how complex little life-stations
smog and history for the rushing
all along the valley dragging at live prey
sucking it in
a live burial
a sheer shriek tells you
if you know of such things
soon it will snow
a valley and a train and a words
flat out with the waiting
.
.
.
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