brush-stroke clouds on the Hudson
a school of painting
As night takes the hills
on the sky-colored Hudson
a few hundred ducks
First Christmas lights
a home alone in the woods
by the vast unknown
The river of night
battalions of streetlights
give way to darkness
The train uncovers
an island with castle ruins
in the last gloaming
From the railroad bridge
ghostly Albany in mist
the moon turned orange
Distant Christmas trees
the spirit is on the land
train passing at night
Erie Pennsylvania
Snow sweeps away all
at the silent train station
a plow’s constant prowl
In windswept snowfields
snow and crop stubble turn pink
red sun in the woods
Defunct trains obtain
in sunny snowy Elkhart
some contradiction
Fire on the outskirts
of a blanched-out dairy farm
no one is around
It all intersects
mirror buildings in the Loop
frigid and lucid
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