“Don’t walk on the tracks”
they said
“You could get hurt”
but I didn’t listen.
I never was
very good at listening.

It was a midsummer evening
right about the time
where the infinitely blue sky
fades to pale
and the world turns to gold
in the sun’s final blaze.

He lead me down
a long dirt road
helped me over
a rusted metal fence
and held my hand
pulling me onto the tracks.

We balanced on the metal bars
laughing as we tottered back and forth
eyes fixed on the ground
which reflected the fire of the dying sun.

I don’t know what made me say it.
Perhaps the smell of the sweetgrass
swaying waist-high
or maybe the sound of our voices
rising and falling
lyrics to the symphony of crickets
filling out ears.

“I love you”

“Don’t walk on the tracks”
they said
“You could get hurt”