Holopaw Follow

So quiet, so quiet.
So, the avalanche swept the house above.
So sorry, they will be missed
but they have left us truly alone,
only to worry over the task at hand,
the sway of the trestles,
the interlacing tracks and your finger on the trigger.

Let the stallions take their marks.
Let the engines run their circles
and every time a spark lights up the dark.

And with each little charge, each reverberation,
you move closer to the conductor.

Oh, my little charge, oh, my little query,
you leap from peak to peak
to barely out of reach.

Little Stallion, complete the arc.
Little Stallion, complete this
leap from powerline to powerline to pal-o...
conductor to conductor.

On our way down into the basement
you declared yourself a hobbyist.
Well, I took you at your word,
but your fingers; so quick to jump the gun.

The stallions left their mark
on the untracked winter white,
the engines lost in tunnels,
spilled into the light (the prickly light)...
out of breath, trade was rough.
I'm calling your bluff.

So quiet, so quiet.
So, the engines slow their spin.
So, they will be missed.
But they have left us truly alone.

Unfurl your brow,
send the ripples down
to the untracked winter white,
cause the trains that you sent
screaming into tunnels (boot black)
will spill into the light.