Each moment of solitude
funneling within itself
renders a hint of meaning
with no lost child to play with it
ours estranged and ephemeral love
missing beside the complicit joy of awe
as the train passes through the wound
of an ancient mountain, there the
raven dances in the softest grains of it’s faces
while the wildflowers wash their hair
in the muddy streams, under the tangerine sun
a wet angle of a cheekbone
flashes against the dusty glass
of the 5AM Southwest Chief
June 17, 2026
arden briar smith