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The Lyric Poem Prize
Terri McCord
Asleep Near Tracks: List
Asleep Near Tracks
The train whistles a blow-
by-blow of current
scented with cut lemons
as I roll from a warm grove.
This wake is a broken yolk,
My eyes yellowed—
jaundice or magic—
two suns to match up
to one, a tunnel
envisioned for sleep again,
the train’s main light
silenced by miles,
electricity run underground, undercover.
My eyelids are small hills,
mounds I count and cross over,
two lemon shapes that could smell
so sweet if no train passed through
this citrus sleep.
Asleep Near Tracks: Text
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