Railroad Crossing

Over this chasm there is a railroad track,
two rails with intervals of nuts and bolts.
There, where the valley ends,
they will meet.

Over that one is a wire rope, chain and pulleys;
passengers sway in the mountain wind—
primitive gondola transport.
There, on the other slope,
is the rhododendron track.

I drive by this abysmal abyss
and think of railroad tracks I have traversed,
junctions I have met and crossed;
if there is a god,
let him put me to pasture
beside a rarely traversed railroad track
with a snack.

I will light the signal lamp.
I will bring the barriers down.
I will ask the cars to stop
before I cook my evening meal
of lentil.

And I will see the seasons turn.
I will fear the clouds that gather.
I will herd the milkless cow.
I will guard against the fox.

You will come and watch me work,
tend my garden for a tourist walk.
You will walk my walk with me
down your favorite Novy Arbat.

And when the sun has finally set,
you will tend to your railroad man.