A string of box cars clatter across the tracks – chugging, clanking, rattling,
Slowly creeping through the city, on a mission to somewhere,
What lies within those cars?
Is it something perishable, something necessary for life, life itself?
Surrounded by traversing wires in the sky,
Shrouded and dwarfed by the silos prepared to greet them,
Greeting other cars along the way,
A range of sizes and shapes, dotted and covered with graffiti,
The language of a transient, a poet, an artist, a soul,
Switching back and forth through the web the city weaves,
A tapestry filled with threads of life, if you look for them.
The city can be a lonely place, but when you let yourself,
You will see that life abounds in every square inch,
Open your eyes,
Look for the beauty,
Don’t let the outer appearance fool you.