Rolling

You are the firebox
in the engine that moves us,
hot as the day we met,
making steam out of quiet,
the night, round eyes, skin,
the empty sky
and leftover tears.

And now we begin, my love,
on the long road over,
weightless for a moment
where birches bend along the track
almost unto snapping
over the clattering cargo.

Let us roll
over trembling trestles
that cross the gorge,
through black tunnels
where the little dot of light
waits forever to come back,
pops us out into sunlit hillsides.

Let us burn
all that is between us in the forge
and hold each other, sooty and wet,
for to love however steep
the passage of this lifetime.

We carry on, pick up friends,
mull dandelions for wine, 
carry family, roll along.
Love, let us call for sorrow's fireman
at each station on the line.