Crossing

“the yellow bus had stopped

at the railroad crossing

the driver yelled ‘quiet’

we kept on talking

I noticed the sign said

‘take care, ail road’

ahead, on the rail road

a deer had stopped

‘it’s gonna die,’ he said,

‘if it stays on that crossing’

then the train did the talking

and we all went quiet

but he wasn’t quiet

‘it’s ail road rail road!’

he kept on talking

and couldn’t be stopped

he loved it… crossing

lines” I said.

“somethings wrong” I said,

cutting through the quiet.

I watched you, crossing

your arms.  At the Railroad

we were stopped,

and had long stopped talking.

but there’s no use in talking

when everything’s been said.

In the dead, we stopped

and stayed stuck in the quiet,

the end of the road,

not the one we were crossing.

and the train that was crossing

did all the talking—

my deer, at the railroad,

done.  ‘It’s him’ you said

and I could hear in the quiet

my heart, once yours, had stopped.