Spring Landscape from a Train

The train’s percussion overrides my thoughts.
Steep banks abrade my eyes, then slip away;
the vista opens on a sunbright land.
A field of rough grass wakes to the wind’s combing.
Behind a stand of trees a hidden pool
glints and is lost.
And now the hills close in
with curves that stir a pit behind the ribs.
My hand
tingles to explore a wooded cleft
and touch the landscape into ecstasy.
(Prickle of leafless twigs against my palm,
the earth opens smoothly for my fingers.)
And when
the trembling subsides,
and the hills resume their firm unmoving shapes,
I should like to lay my cheek
against a sun-warmed mound,
breathe its sharp scents,
and sleep.