He sits

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He sits hanging from the dinosaur-skeleton
of the old railroad track that led over the hill but now,
leads over the stream and then disappears into space
with no destination assigned.

He sits hanging with his legs drooping low
having walked the path below, and finding that time
is ripe with the ripe of the great white peach in the sky
with no intimation designed.

He sits hanging in wondering awe and concern,
hearing the footsteps of those gone before and below
a thousand feet against the winding path beneath and
a thousand more to come.

He sits hanging, hanging, legs drooping low
With questions in mind but no answers to show and
the night pressing nearer and darker and shadows
arriving to join him.

He sits, wondering, seeing the great crowd below
and around him, and above him, and all those before
who had come to that place in the dark of the night
to ask the question of humanity's plight.

He sits, wondering, if ever the night
had answered a single man yet.

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