Rattle

The train rattles in God's hand, while the sleeping man
clutches his suitcase. His sleeping fingers
are bear traps, sprung. The suitcase might roar for the man,
or through his lips, in his honour,
but the other passengers are sleeping,
casing different clutches.

God's sleeping hand rattles the train, as it bullets
through the barrel of night.
There is nothing erotic about this
or a suitcase full of bear traps. The other
passengers grip sleep, stuff its corners in their cars.
A pair of reading glasses is crushed in a pocket.

God's bullet sleeps in his gun of love, as the train
rattles through his hands. There is nothing
erotic about this. The steady ticking of the man's
suitcase of bullets and bear traps lulls him to sleep.
Other passengers rattle in their seats, dreaming
shrapnel of bear claws, a musk that nearly wakes them.

The train rattles in God's head, as the man's fingers
come loose. His suitcase falls, loosing enough
bullets to fill the train, which is just a rattle
in the man's dream, in God's dream.
Hush now. The bear trap of night yields
to the prying fingers of dawn.

Copyright © 2007 Jesse Ferguson All rights reserved
from FreeFall
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission