On to Arkangel

A poem about journeying to the White Sea from far away, a long time ago.

Lattice upon my window frame,
Porous filter for the chill air of first light,
A mute foreboding of the Siberian sky to form.

Impatient gaits come within earshot,
Until the gravel stirs just outside the rail car,
Its restless crunch revealing our apprehension.

We’ll trust these next few days of our lives
To the desolate trail of an iron beast,
And to what may be the product of our journey.