trains

the way the sun was striking the,
flashing metal glints of
the
  trains
there was a blinding
epiphany
of light and sound
and the tracks were great, steel veins;
how they,
curve,
and twist elegantly:
       not unlike that of a flowering vine,
                        or the thin, naked spine
of the radiant woman who stole the thunder
from the mid-august storms,
   the,
             glowing dusky warm, warm, warm skies-
skies that hover,
  hover around the station,
mixing with engine ssssssteam.