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Francis Masat

Distance

A swimming and fishing lake lies upstream of the 1910 railway bridge east of town. Down stream, beyond the railway bridge, I can sometimes see, depending on season, the bridge for the highway that parallels the railroad. If I focus on the bridge beyond the bridge, I see life flowing back and forth, in and out of town, fleeting past as if I am not here.

an old carp moves
silently
into the shadows

I turn away, ignoring them in their trip across their bridge, and walk on. Even with my back turned, the breeze carries the occasional humming, singing sound of a semi or cycle ripping over their road.

autumn afternoon
cicadas replaced
by the clack of cattle cars