Train whistle

train whistle blowing
on new year’s day
through miles of snow
that sift softly
through the maples
a sprinkling sound
faint as cinnamon
as I stand with a
a sugar shovel
in the laneway
the breath in my mouth
a song without words
the geese gone
ice hanging hard
from the eaves,
and this cold
this sweet crisp cold
passing one flake at a time
on its long expedition
to spring,
I think of Guthrie
alone on the plains
Dylan departing
the iron range
Pete Seeger John Prine
rough hands hobo songs
can’t say what it means
nothing probably
just a freight train crossing
the hard white earth
good is good God is god.
happy new year.

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