Walking between the rails 
of a rocky railroad track, 
ignoring all the wails 
of the trains at my back. 
At the other end 
is only a skeleton and scythe, 
but I head for the next bend. 
Is nothing off the track worth being alive? 
But to each side lies 
a horrid marsh, me to swallow 
should I believe its disguise, 
and its path follow. 
The screaming whistle of the last 
train to run me down 
seems but a thing of the past 
as I pick myself from the ground. 
The track splits and to the right, 
far off, is the scythe-armed skeleton, 
to the left, a queen of light, 
or is it a short-cut to the former one? 
I stop and wonder which way 
is the safer of the two: 
continue on toward the ending day 
or turn to befriend you? 

February 4, 1985