WEBVTT

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A small poem that I like
a great deal, because it

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has a little kind
of magical moment

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in it, where the poet
and the poem become one.

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And in some odd way, the reader
becomes part of that too.

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It's called, Outside
Fargo, North Dakota.

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Along the sprawled body of the
derailed Great Northern freight

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car, I strike a match
slowly and lift it slowly.

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No wind.

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Beyond town, three
heavy white horses

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wade all the way to their
shoulders in a silo shadow.

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Suddenly, the
freight car lurches.

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The door slams back.

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A man with a flashlight
calls me, good evening.

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I nod as I write, good evening--

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lonely and sick for home.

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