———————————————————-fields of zinnias, trains chugging
while he stands at the depot
waving to the sleeping as they shudder past.
He is stationed nightly
in the brash and empty
———————————————————-horizon spooling out like bolts of silk
pool of shallow light.
This leaves him
with trespasser’s guilt,
———————————————————-charcoal-outlined bones of leaves
citizenship revoked, exiled
to a minor role in one of Kafka’s stories.
Maybe he’s the man who folds himself in half,
———————————————————-strong wind snapping at a gemlike kite
maybe one who loves the river, never makes the jump.
Of the remaining six, two dream of flying
once a month or more.
“I’ve never felt so free,” they say.
———————————————————-“I cried when I awoke.”