To the Light

Locomotive whistle 

 penetrates woods 

   like a hawk 

scream—

engine and cars 

  moving off 

in planetary 

 motion—

  a comet 

 with velocity—

its orbit 

  not a circling 

 curve—                                                  

  its steam cloud— 

banner streaming 

 golden silver 

wreaths—

  unfolding 

its mass 

  to the light—

 this traveling 

demigod—

 cloud-compeller—

sunset sky 

  livery—

makes hills 

  echo— 

his snort 

  like thunder 

 shaking earth— 

   breathing 

fire smoke 

 from his nostrils—

 earth has now 

 a race worthy 

  to it.