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THE MUSIC OF WHEELS By Helene Pilibosian When the sound of the wheels of the train echoed in my ears, I heard a Rachmaninoff concerto exhibiting its influence and power. A microphone translated its implications, presenting me with a transcript. Then station to station, I fooled myself into denying the music as a feint. But no feint found me that day or later as I conjugated ambition to follow such vital notes. Difficult, yes. Difficulty plays instruments, conjugates many verbs, builds viable languages. It sneezes sawdust and forms storms. The season meant well upon the overweight hours, though it measured them and found them wanting exercise. Only misanthropes apologize. My lack of disguise caused me to hail a tentative taxi, and on its radio I heard a Rachmaninoff concerto concluding as from the wheels. I decided to travel by train again, even with a diet of circumstance. -- Helene Pilibosian has written and published three books of poems, one the winner of a first prize from Writer's Digest. She owns Ohan Press (http://home.comcast.net~hsarkiss) and has just published her memoir called My Literary Profile about her life and the culmination of all her efforts.