Ana Karenina steps under an oncoming train to her death.
From Tolstoy’s Novel of the same name….
The eyes the eyes
all those eyes -
staring blankly through
me as though not reviled
but worse - invisible
Impossible -
Once inconceivable
His eyes – Those eyes
that flashed capturing
the world in each
indelible look and now
“What am I doing?’
Recall, the worker –
that worker crushed
under wheels as we
and they watched so
long ago, long before
we danced, or loved,
or fell together in hell
or heaven wrought
passion that eclipsed all
passion unstoppable
blazing in consummated
conflagration into love
Love, that lit the universe of
my soul and held me
wiling captive – so long
So long ago signifier worker fell
in sacrificial warning supreme
Writ this time – of death
in his blood
As I step from this
platform of misery alone
the familiar rush, push
Whoosh of the train
The gentle train, the
vehicle of my love, my life
Step from this platform and
Into the arms of death as the
worker beckoned – leap finally
to be free -I step this final step
and in the shimmer of mysticism
In the foretelling of engine smoke,
the veil lifts ironically clears
and I already falling - fall in
abject clarity exposing me
to myself -prisoner of irrevocable
action once again …
too late to reverse the running wheels…
Wonder…
“Where am I?”
“What am I doing?”
“What for”
