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January 2000 

Et in Arcadia Ego. 
                                                Virgil 

The ways of God are unknowable to man. 
                                                Saint Augustine 

The bow of God’s wrath is bent, and justice bends the arrow at your heart.
                                                Jonathan Edwards 

All the minds and spirits God ever sent into the world are susceptible of enlargement and improvement. 
                                                Joseph Smith 

I. October 8, 1908: A Train

Pulled out of Green River, Wyoming, heading 
West toward Salt Lake City. The Mormon prophet, 
Joseph F. Smith, was going home from a visit 
to Boston, with his traveling companion. 
He saw the flash of white butts as a herd 
Of antelope, coming in from the north, turned 
Away from the train and bounced through the sage, 
And he thought how sixty years before, aged twelve, he had 
Watched such plenitude of beasts on this same route, 
Then on a wagon seat next to his mother 
As she managed their team on the pioneer trek 
After his father, Hyrum, was shot 
With Joseph at Carthage. The car was hot, 
So he walked to the back, out onto 
A polished wood platform with a wrought iron rail— 
And heard a voice say, “Go in and sit down.” 
He turned back but then stopped, wondering if he had 
Imagined the voice, when it came again: “Sit down.”
Just as he reached his seat, the train hit 
A broken rail and the engine and most 
Of the cars (not his) went off the tracks. 
The companion later wrote that the prophet 
Would have been badly hurt if he hadn’t sat down,
Because all of the cars were “jammed up bad.” 

II. May 25, 1999: A Train Out Of

Boston, leaving Providence, Rhode Island, 
Struck Julia Toledo, from a 
Mormon family in Ecuador 
And her four sons, walking on the tracks. 

All were killed instantly, except Jose, ten, 
Who died in two days. They had just left a 
Transition shelter where they stuffed their packs
With clothes, coloring books, tiny dolls—all found
Along the tracks, with shoes, torn packs, a bloody
Bible. Julia had led them through a break 
In the fence for a shortcut to someplace, 
Fleeing, some said, an abusive husband 
Who had tried to steal his sons. But he, 
Located in Ecuador, heart-broken, said no, 
There was trouble with his in-laws because he was
Still Catholic. Others said it was 
Julia’s sister, tired of baby-sitting, 
Had driven them out to homelessness. 
They had climbed a short trail up the traprock 
Of the railbed, walked two miles before Jose 
Got separated, to the north side. 
Julia, carrying Pedro, pulling Angel 
And Carlos, was just lunging across 
To reach him when the train struck them all. 

III. In My Dream God Is Listening, Carefully

As I tell him these stories and ask him, 
“Which of these trains, children, was in your hands?’
We are both seated, quite comfortably, 
On a green satin French provincial 
Couch, in a room painted by Watteau— 
The transition room in Kubrick’s 2001. 
God asks me if I am proud or rebellious. 
I notice that he is luminous under his robe,
And his face is serene beyond all description, 
His skin young, downy, but full of pores. 
I can see small white scars across his forehead. 
Then tears gather in his eyes, and slowly 
Tears begin to drop like blood from every pore. 
I ask again, “Which train is on your hands?” 
And he sets his face toward me like flint: “Both. All.”