Train To Córdoba (from Málaga)

I love to travel by train. Sometimes the trip passes too quickly. Both of these towns have the accent on the first syllable which makes them quick to say.

                  Train To Córdoba

                While rushing up to 
         and then past an olive grove,
                the flashes of silver
        in the deep blue green leaves
            with a fringe of poppies,
         is a sight to remember even
        at one hundred miles an hour.

          What are those fruit trees?
            Apple or oranges, I think
                   but not peaches,
      at the beginning of the season.
      They line up their serried ranks,
            hurriedly in diagonal lines,
              now horizontal columns
     seconds later in a march forced
             by the clack of the track
              that passes for rhythm
                 if not for the rhyme
            of this rushed inspection.

Flying across a trestle bridge in a blink,
   above a tan and sandy stream bed,
       thin before the rains of spring
              and not a blossom yet
     in any orchard has winked at me.

     What looks like tiny brown bales
               a quarter mile distant
                    is soon seen as
                     box upon box
               of a beekeeper’s hive,
                  not yet unstacked

           From Málaga to Córdoba
               is a fleet 49 minutes
              and before we know it
                   or can record it,
                      we are here,
       with an accent, quickly placed,
               on each first syllable.