At a minor way station in Andes west of Eva Peron
the train is waiting for quite a while in the eventide.
The moon is just looking on. The fog is groping to slide
down the creek. Hillocks exhale dew and summer.
The train is basking alike a snake in the valley's palms
silverly shining with its windows' dusty glass,
slowly digesting inside its belly the usual evening buzz;
slumber is wrapping us...
Out of the settlement, only a hut has been lucky enough to remain,
about the gully bank, covered with barrel tile,
the used-to-be one of the stationmaster, a cumbersome old man,
always drunken, with a weird and quiet smile.
No one is living there any more, clear-cut -
flock behavior is to blame, the cities' lust and appeal,
so no one is pushing the brake any longer, but
trains, for no clear reason, keep stopping there and waiting still.
Engineers curse engines,
locomotives grin their stripe-colored mouth wide,
passengers shrug in their raveled dreams at the upper deck.
Then the diesel finally pulls out, winking aside,
and a light in the window of the old hut winks back.
I descend from the light let there, I make its part
like a quantum, figure a particle or a wave.
I am cruising along its wires, a flying dart,
in all modes but the power-save.
I descend from the light lit there - its cared child,
I am gaining speed. I am near the finish line,
and, bypassing my scarves/my covers, my neck is chilled
by the winds of the runways, the necklaces of mine.
City lanterns are planting diamonds in my way,
rains are following, casting silver under my feet.
I am hardly maintaining where I am heading and why,
I have almost forgotten it=
All my sounds are now a little bit skewed behind,
my viewfinder is a reflection in a still-standing cup,
and the pilot of my self-preservation system reclined
giving up...
Very likely, my trace in your mind is a semitransparent spot,
an impression of aery palms in the frostwork net.
I am tapping your every window with an off-the-cuff letter knot,
an unfolding chord set.
Original: lagorda.livejournal.com/7280.html + lagorda.livejournal.com/17538.html
Daisyworld/covercode: lagorda.livejournal.com/8690.html
Daisyworld/explained: ccl.northwestern.edu/netlogo/models/Daisyworld
Ulaan Ude: 51°50'N 107°36'E
Eva Peron: 32°49'S 70°03'W
"The shamans are everywhere." (BG, "The Customs and Border Blues")