If trains or trails through woods or cortex
buckle like pavement, disrupting overlapping
underground systems of utilities, or are caused to
break by a broken conduit beneath them, or
even if they're smooth as silk, fallen to the form
of what, in hiding, they entice to and reveal,
arc or act or idea motionlessly risen and
cascading down then again to the plain,
they're what remain and remind us
which rises we walk on will remain
after we've moved far from where
we can even remember if our memory
is truly of what led us here
and then sashayed us gently down.
Mark Dow's poems and prose have appeared recently in Drunken Boat, Mad Hatters' Review, PN Review, The New York Times "Opinionator," and Se Lo Dico Non Lo Faccio. He is author of American Gulag: Inside U.S. Immigration Prisons. He can be reached at mdow(at)igc(dot)org.