Flatland

From a train no more than a blurred horizon,
A plane split in endless compartments,
As parallel lines scored in the land,
Water channels, tractor tracks
And crisp ploughed furrows,
Slide away to kiss at infinity

So this carriage crawls
The rim of a great wheel filled
With damp mist and fresh grass
And drugged smell of earth in its man-made spokes:
Unframable mandala.