The Bus Station

Those sufficient engines
are they natural gas?
rattle up the snuff
as the guff brushes 
from downtown to
outbound. How many
words until the moment
of a silence when the
silence trembles with
all the other noise? As
many leaves as fly on 
this tree. Can I call
you a tree? Will you
be home for my friends,
these small birds whose 
shriller voices still talk
over the idling transportation
stitch. The whole cloth could
bring this whole town where
it wants to go, if it weren't for
all these pocket cars.