Outside Fargo, North Dakota

Along the sprawled body of the derailed Great Northern freight car,

I strike a match slowly and lift it slowly.

No wind.

Beyond town, three heavy white horses

Wade all the way to their shoulders

In a silo shadow.

Suddenly the freight car lurches.

The door slams back, a man with a flashlight

Calls me good evening.

I nod as I write good evening, lonely

And sick for home.