I can’t go too far, or far too long or
I’ll dry up and they’ll find me all
wrung out on a steel rack
just waiting for words, choking out old air

No matter how much
the roar of the steam engine calls
how many muscles I strain trying to chase it
back, back, and back again

There is a spring I came from
that soothes suppleness to scabs
brings the flush back to my cheeks
I can feel steaming water pulsing out
beneath my feet but never glimpse the bottom

It laughs knowingly with every return
of its soft, beautiful stone worn rough