In the Decadence of Eternity

28 IN THE DECADENCE OF ETERNITY May 31st, 1978. Our dwarf star lolls, still, over the parked cars, the glass and chrome, the tar, the worn naked railroad tracks. Here, where we live, workers are driven into the earth like spikes. Not gold but iron, rust. They link age to age, landscape to landscape, clay pits to the brick backs of towns. And now the 2 o'clock train rattles and squeaks over parched cinders, easing into the freight yard. A crew of gandy dancers in magenta hardhats, 29 some in undershirts, some with kerchiefs, lay down their tools. They step back in burning puffs of air to rest, it is their right to rest, still as shepherds while the grinding wheels pass. ...