this love doesn't run on time, apparently,

like a train on a pocket watch.

no, it lazes along 

like a train on its own track

haphazard, willynilly even,

then suddenly comes out of nowhere

and blows through a crossing of far roads, 

bearing down,

coming hard and fast and loud

across an unlikely stretch of road

that ran between the big house, on a fairway

and a small house, on a river

... fifty years having passed

in no time at all ... 

sounding exactly like a tornado