at the station the straight tracks start
trek through the empty range
mere concrete unwashed
two plum trees along the way
rot trodden their fruit
corrosive suburban lore
who does trek there does get caught
sweaty palms in Hegyeshalom
silent glances at the blue-green padding
and water and no words for it
orderly escape from regularity
which cannot be abandoned
like the skin like the maps like the on-board restaurant