Someday, the horn of the train

will cease. Our bodies,

like bodies, will drown

in a great rain. Our bodies,

like bodies, will lighten & fade.

For now, there’s a picture of us

just off the road. Across that,

a barren field. Across that,

a river moves. Even in the heat,

the children climb my leg.

Once, your body turned to mine

in a whisper. It was night

& there was no one to hear you.

You painted my body

in twos, but it was the field

& its emptiness

that kept you awake.



Sam Zafris