Ingot, Stick; There is a Train
Drumsticks twitching, from bricks burst so many minings:
the gold of clocks, jukebox diamonds, lapis lazuli like little
blue raisins—and how you adore a room squared in liquid
crystal! You button‐press for peace and the piano spaces
vibrate sunset songs. Even the moon is a just right block.
From cactus dye and sheep sheared you knit houses;
I lounge in stalks of cane like distant rushing trains.
Amanda Lynn lives in New England and works as a freelance writer. Her creative work appears in various niches of the literary ether and—so far as her time machine has revealed—future books.