Montage

Montage

No, I do not believe it I say, I tell my son, my daughter,

 I have no belief in the supernatural regardless the libraries

and visionaries,  the orgasms of the souls of the chaste.

I see, I see here from this train the building site before sunrise

as the winter is almost at its darkest, I see the builders

there in every room or potential room as the train slowly heaves itself

from the station in the hope of acceleration, they flicker slowly

if there is such a thing, lit by electric bulbs hung in cages

as the builders have no ceiling lights to see by. The cages are slung

from a single thick cord running through this building’s skeleton,

although maybe upstairs has a different line of charge, I see

the builders reaching up, bending down, pressing metal to the walls

in staccato repeat, they pass me and I them, windows on tableau

to be viewed each day, work days only, they may do overtime

on a Saturday but I do not, I don’t need to see them then though

to believe that they are there.