From Woodside to Jamaica

This ride is smooth

the tracks could be still water

a backdrop of single street lamps

make constellations over warehouse fields--

passing thruways with lanes like currents

over the darkest patches of landscape

faces reflect in the glass lining the car

spirits gliding over the Queen's land

Inside, the lights go out

the faces dissolve

the glass thins blackened night fills the railcar,

we swim in the dark waters

speckled with orange gems, great bright bulbs

lambent signs blinking on for miles

Another train shoots by-

try to follow the red electric letters

We slow, slow down

the nape of my neck falls slack and hangs

everything is silent, skating over the rails