Make Like A Train, Take Tracks

This is escape
(or so we'd like to believe) –
taking the train through nowhere
and reaching now here. We'd hoped
for such a scape of waste
land, where the sun gutters
from the sky, and our footprints measure
not distance, but scope. Where, other
than the echoes of electric exoskeletons,
hoarse codes from broken throats,
the world is mute. Colourless.

When I talk of a landscape,
I speak of this silence:
this space, this time,
and how it means forever.
An emotion bled-out,
compressed -
             under snow,
           under duress.