Or take the loneliness out of the lost moon, The night too big for a man, too lonesome and wide. The vastness has been netted in railroad tracks But it is still vast, uneasy. And when the brief Screech of the railway-whistle stabs at the trees That grow so thick, so unplanned, so untidily strong On either side of the two planned ribs of steel, Ghost-steamboats answer it from the sucking brown water.