Train passing
The train passes and I kneel to touch the creaking iron. Expecting heat, expecting flattened pennies, my hand — rests. There are only locusts left, and the cool shushing of the river. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING
The train passes and I kneel to touch the creaking iron. Expecting heat, expecting flattened pennies, my hand — rests. There are only locusts left, and the cool shushing of the river. CLICK TO LISTEN TO THE RECORDING