It Was a Fast Train

 It Was a Fast Train

(…to teach you that man does not live on bread alone but on every word that comes from the mouth of the Lord. Deuteronomy 8:3b)

It was a fast train that got him there,
it was a straight line from fame to desertion.
No one knew his name, no one noticed the lines
in his face
etched over time, etched by tears like iron fillings.
He had studied. He had memorized. He had written it
all
down
and hoped that his journals would suffice to answer
the critics who were saddened that his trip took him
so far out of his previous circle.
There were curls of smoke; there were headdresses
he remembered and colors he could not describe.
He knew that every chance he got
he would listen carefully, he would diagram
the plot
for anyone who wondered how the hell he ever ended up
so far from pressured versions of sanity.

Someone else had paid the ticket; they asked where
he wanted to go. He did not know.
East was hungrier, west was warm. South was
catchier, north was torn.
But he could ride for days without interruption;
he could think for hours without answering a
single question
about his intentions. He wished he had written
more of it down.

He didn’t mind the passengers; they had no expectations.
He tried to sleep but found the dreams were scarier than
the visions of wakefulness. He only wanted a glass of wine,
a friend to break bread, and a hand upon his forehead that
understood the changes of time;

The changes of seasons;
the range of opinions that any one person can have.
He fasted once or twice; his menus were spartan.
He looked for an eye, a smile, a wisp of hair caught
by surprise. He did not like to dive into himself

Until

He arrived and heard that all had been cured by
manna, by oatmeal, by simple fare and
dimpled children who never asked him why.