some trains have horns, some have whistles

they make their sounds as the roll by in the dark 

 

it is a message; a warning to local traffic 

although we often use the word mournful to describe it 

 

Perhaps because we are half-awake 

their rumbling arrives suddenly  

as though from a dream 

 

Late at night as they move within range

sometimes close enough to shake my home 

 

Lying in bed, we remember train trips we have taken, 

and those we didn't, 

people whose faces we no longer remember

 

trains come and go 

without regret 

disinterested in the homes they have disturbed  

 

Our mourning is our own and our memories 

nudged awake by their passing,   

are the only thing that is lonesome

 

 

 

 

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