We steal on steel through vague terrains
of sheds and fences, weeds and waste.
Over the jumbled, trashy plains
the mountain lifts its owl-skull face,
immensely silent, blind with sun,
inhabitant of another space,
alien to things that run
on tracks and roads, to scurfs of roofs,
crisscrossing wires, confusion:
enormous and indifferent proof
to passing souls in passing trains
that what can bless us stands aloof.