Gone Gone Gone

Gone Gone Gone

The scenery falls too fast

from this inexorable train;

pastures, houses,

signs unreadable,

license plates unidentified.

When did they tear that down?

People, too, moving,

twist themselves out of our arms

and run;

take the long, easy glide

from the sky

into that little pond,

there on the left,

gone.

Even our dead,

bodies stilled,

are taken,

disposed of,

gone.

Speeding on,

our bodies rebel,

cramp,

tear

as if it were our own flesh

gone.