in the archaic light the articulate mockingbird broadcasts from the sentinel sumac trees rooted in the cinder trackbed resolutely preparing a garden for any blue eyed mary’s wandering by that may dare watch the sunset from here with no fear of locomotives. perhaps just migrating west. the tracks go on for miles separating neighborhoods and turfs, serving no useful purpose. laying an ear to steel listening for trains that never come the underground river rails and takes you farther than the next scheduled stop.       © Rick Forman