Michelle Y. Burke Circles

Night. It's snowed all day. Cornfields and trees
collect what the wind lifts. On a train,
a man and woman face each other.

They don't speak; they look past each other.
She watches the moon whiten. He watches trees
thin to darkness. She remembers another train

marked by a silence like snow, a northbound train
that carried their argument like another
toy lost to childhood. He remembers trees,

toy trees and little trains, one passing the other.

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