Snow On The Tracks

they’re not tracks,
really,
they’re rails

rails of contract
and ownership
manipulated
regulated
capitulated

tracks are heavy,
but free.
they are what remains
of what has passed
the ticket lost
in a coat that never was

rails are not tracks
at all
except to me

snow upon grass
belongs to the footprint
but the life was in the fall
before the footprint
and that is where I look.

rivers
know beginnings
and endings
in the polluted circle
we call life
but it is the quiet rush
in between
that draws me
to its baptism.

there,
close your eyes,
can you see it?
as it plows barrel like
and headstrong
a thousand boulders
wiping clean the memory
of a thousand hillsides
of tortured remorse

I look softly
but I look deeply
to the tracks
falling away
from the freeway
of man’s twisted hell.


I’m glad for the distance
and bend
for it burps me fresh babe
and I hunger for more
from the breast of longing

rivers are for memories,
snow, ice, stones
and promises
the tracks of yesterday
the light of tomorrow
a kiss not handshake
whipped not stirred.

snow upon the tracks
tells me to come on
tells me it’s late
but not too
so
and racing
only leads backwards

we have rivers to cross
can you hear it say?
memories to polish
or erase
as you choose.

and tomorrows
that require
a journey

look up and smile
ear to ear
as the snow gives
you life
tickling your neck
in the thunder of your hope.

sell your omens
to the blacksmith
and find your track
in the impossible
that treasures your life
if only the key
you’ll use.

and when you come to the river
stand full to its blood
then fall, fall, fall
and flood it
with tears of joy
having found peace
having found life.
having found yourself
in the ghost
of rail less tracks
and a pillow
of virgin snow.

~rick