The Empire Builder

They call this train the Empire Builder | |

each gilded town along the vast Imperial artery [

a hurried disruption of wood, and I consider ,

if cities are wounds or organs ?

Maybe each border is marked by hatchet trails /

veins, a main street where the grain of ‘worn wood ‘

hits the air and bleeds sap ?

I grasped a hatchet from my dad’s army pack when I was younger ;

filled with grim purpose of building my own empire —

violently hack empty space from bleeding parts -

and finally, with fire in my heart :

chopped the roots of ancient trees ~

that I believed had no grand purpose ,

that I thought were just a nuisance ../

But it is not useless; every poisonous heart can seed and sprout ‘

or finally be dried and pounded out for healing tincture “

and maybe this punctured canvas of a town can still be left to dry -

pulled and tied and stretched and broken up until ]

the streets are garden rows, sustaining a heart rebuilt \

the silt glimpsed from the far jailbar windows | |

within each car of the Empire Builder .