Drinkin blackberry wine on the trestle –
there was me, my cousin,
and Jesse Hedd from Paradise Valley.
“Got to take up all your space.
It’s like flying in your dreams.”
And Jesse, his long hair smokin
ran last as the steel-headed train
butted through sunset.
Next day we splayed on the rails,
dropping clover heads into the valley.
Jesse told us his dream:
“Flyin across the sun.
Kissing the face of the moon.”
He was dazzling us speechless
when the throb of that locomotive