Trestled Memory

creaks and groans,

shudders and shakes

But there are

no worries

These timbers

have what it takes

They flex a little,

maybe

some bending

but no break,

No

Its the

ore laden,

rolling trains

All broken and

forgotten

That failed

That declined

And decayed

But the trestle

remains

Alone

in the desert,

red light

cold night

early morning

frost and

yearn For

the days

of thunder

Not the quiet

The solitude

Of being

the express

for critters

Or people

brazen and bold

Enough to cross

longs

For the days

When it had

Worth

Had purpose

And function

Not just a

Skeleton

In the desert

Lost

Out of sight

Within earshot

Of the highway

But just out of view

Invisible

as the cars

fly by

Obscured

By the dunes

The dunes

that have

no sea

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