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Bales of hay
Laying lonesome
In a field we all saw
Racing through the train window
Honestly,
Have you ever seen anything
So terribly lonesome
As a bale of hay
Beneath July sun
Wanting so bad to soak up something
Besides itself

The worst of it was
There was more than one of these
Bales, more than one field
Too fired to bunch into a mountain
Or even a hill
The absolute weariness
Of it all
All racing at a sickening pace
Through our windows

You nudge me and whisper
(As not to disturb sleepers)
Do we have fields like that
At home? With hay like that?
Like that- you don’t say lonely
Because hay bales can’t be lonely
To say it aloud
Would put weight to the foolishness
The unavoidable presence of personality
In a bale of hay
This weight would press onto our skin
Straight through the window
I respond (a bit too loud for the sleepers taste)
No, no we don’t
I lied because no one wants
To bring loneliness back home
To say it aloud, would put weight
To the hay bales
Making their memory a coat
We do not shed

You see, the train is
Uncomfortably warm
Our hearts, spirits, bones
All rising heat of memories
Graciously lighter
Than bales of hay



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