On the New Transcontinental Railroad

 

It's spring of '69, I'm heading west

to California. Great Sierra peaks

confront the locomotive, pistons pressed

against relentless heights. The cabin reeks

from blackish fumes, the roaring engines strain

to muscle up the slope. But paradise

is suddenly below us as the train

relaxes: mighty rivers seem to splice

majestic hills with swaths of greenery.

 

And now, with sparks above its shrieking wheels

the train descends, and now we're falling free

with frightful speed, until the crazed appeals

for mercy all around me turn to calm

amidst a gentle valley's airy balm.