Passing an Orchard by Train

Grass high under apple trees.

The bark of the trees rough and sexual

the grass growing heavy and uneven.

We cannot bear disaster like

the rocks-

swaying nakedly

in open fields.

One slight bruise and we die!

I know no one on this train.

A man comes walking down the aisle.

I want to tell him

that I forgive him that I want him

to forgive me.