(Old train tracks and a vine-covered hill from a busy new shopping center below.)

Still train on trestle,
Still trestle train
Move me away to south.
Move me to peaches
or in the low country collards.

No more skipply erected
Busyness, no more poured progress.
Let me sit unmolded
On a new cut road.

I will labor.
I will cut a new road.
I will lay a new track
That moves me to peaches
Or peaches to me.
I will not tip the pitcher
That pours out river on river
Of six lanes. Let me bridge over.

Sit still on that trestle, train.
Sit still and simply watch
As through your vine-covered hill
And under your steel-hatched body
Those six lanes run and run.