Anachronism
i have an iron heart soft
in your hands. it is stitched
with railroad tracks winding
through the same old holes burned
by fizzled-out stars years ago. it turns
with nineteenth century
cogs and gilded age smiles of
chimney smoke. i am tarnished, lost
in love of old things; decades
slide past me. but i can feel
your hand on the small of
my back. you could be my anchor,
keep me in time, but i cannot
stop the trains.