Viaduct

Where, once, the railway was embanked
a field of cabbage now extends.

But every hundred paces, brick supports,
the width of all four railway tracks, arise.

Look up to see, across the cloud,
cables for the rails, and cables for the power.

No trains.

No birds.

No wind.

image: po

Dylan Harris
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it's my hands
my difficulty with melancholy
hence the coldness
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