The dim train passed,
rusted cars clattered noisily
against an amethyst skyline.
A glow on the horizon
soon to resolve
Into a bright broken
Eggshell moon,
swaying old oak
Orange striped with
Spray paint to mark its
own impending doom.
Soon to be replaced by
bending young pines
Encroaching broken congregation
Of concrete counting the time
as the same graffiti covered
Train clatters
farther down the long
battered line
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