The frieght

Each branch bowed lowly by the clinging white snows
a shriek of an owl winging across the silvered hedgegroves
in the distance the train whistle sounds
and the whipping wind blows.

Somewhere long ago I ran with ruffian comrades along nights like these
in the hill country of Montana?s freights  running  along at ease
we caught the reefer cars in the starglow of the whitening chilled air
and were whisked away by skewed time to the hungered land made bare

The brown skinned Mexican taken from his corner of sun baked earth
a glint in his eye between the clacking trains cry peering out from his
dirge.

The coal black  from Tennessee with the hacking cough and ancient face
thin and minute against the expanse of sky the last of a dying race.

All of us rolling onto nowhere from future to future we fly
some destiny  made by us in clocks set in motion ages ago
grasping at futures unfound as we ride into the wind and starglow.

The thin gray light of morning peering into the eyes of foxes like us
jumping off before the next stop, bellies empty, hands hardened clothes
gruff.

The waitress in the coffee shop I knew her warm mouth once
hers and mine a fleeting chance like the wind blown sage
her husband returning in the night to steal from me my one bright treasure
returning me to stone and cold and lines on a page

Now the body worn by a century of age
the roads these eyes have seen the lines burned into each page
the love, the hunger, once held like grit in the teeth
fall louder now than these snows of another winters season start
along the forsaken roads of the  tried and wearied heart.

Gary Esposito's Questions:

How can i create better continuity in this poem.
This piece needs work its just a draft but the experience is dear to me so i want to keep the ideas in it.