saw her train was stretching here to home like movie reel
and felt beneath her for the one seat that was hers in every frame.
All of it was in succession: beats and blinks and breaths,
a strand of instants spun within a whispering machine,
while somewhere cue marks hung mysterious in the bends.
been here once before, to this way of thinking.
After the funeral, it had been a comfort to her
to think of the wheel suspended, its immortal nitrate,
all of them forever fixed into their seats
forever real, though out of reach.
Now, she looked left, and the lands
Boxes down to gables down to spotted green.
-- Michelle Clark