Closer to Ecstasy

There’s a dark, deep powerful thread

Running around us now, these

Fifty wild, unloaded ghost-white mustangs,

Manes streaming like tense autumn lightnings

As they stretch their necks and head-down charge

Up the scree-walled slopes to the place

Where the beautiful god-of-all-storms

Presses spells into the lavender-bruise sky

With an axe and a battle-hearted melody.

And I’m full of electric jolts and sparkle,

Riding a box-car built of grey-knot timber and phantom iron,

Sharing the line with a rock-heavy locomotive

That follows a hole drilled in the solid wall of blackness

By the Cyclops-eyed lantern strung from the cow-catcher sweep.

With a heavy, chain muscled hand the fire-box silhouetted driver

Pulls the cord that will set the moon’s-hell bells ringing:

Darkness is coming and I couldn’t be closer to ecstasy.