After a while the rain stopped

with the windows down in the rainy dusk
and the road glinting by the cracks of the clouds
a crowd of buildings cracks where the railway ran
sedentary trains rust
leaning on grain elevator curves
i will dip my two fingers down from the interstate bridge
and what is it that draws my hand up like a shamaan over the scene
to feel the spirits dying and all the dry words of the day
swept back into the space our wheels make.