The rage of September

September leans
down the sidings of an old steam-engine
and her howl fills the night.

Another moon, another snarl under the stars,
when I splintered across his knuckles
my body. Broken for you.

Past station-master, passed
with a voice of steel-on-steel,
raptor claws a-clicking, clacking,
in the dark. Down across the rails,
coming, coming—
the cry of an old wolf mother:
he, the hunted, hears her yet.

Boots heavy, heat fills us all with dread,
combust and oil,
a roar.
she grinds it out under tamping iron,
salt, and sand, and rhyme—

Another night, a sudden stillness
an awful, soaked silence
on the tracks.