Switchblade Comb

Not the empty sky but the rusted
engine block
                        on the beach
portrait of ruin & neglect
            to match my own

One steps toward an outside
to rattle them reliquary bones

or walk where wind ripples the
surface, shallows & tide
inside the quiet noise of what
birds might think

Half past sunset & broken
baby Jesus cries just kneeling
on the pavement, well
we all have to take that step

a passage or presence you
bridge

one foot on the platform
& the other foot on the train