Trains
1
In the marrowbone of night,
your song parts the fog.
I never knew the secrets entrusted there.
I never knew that cinders and steel
could lie so passionately
and still believe that the watchman’s hours
would evaporate and leave us scratching for more.
I have stolen time.
The windows remain closed and shuttered.
Even the wind turns away.
The track narrows.
You call.
Again.
2
Sometimes song seems the only respite,
the rhythm of clashing cars
and moments stretched beyond the next bend
to that point where light winks out.
We both know this lonely tunnel.
Payment is due.
I have always exited alone.
3
Another evening, and red smoke completes the horizon.
Your ribs stretch for distance,
and while I cannot see their end,
I know by sound
their lot.
Sing for me.
It is not
too close.
“Trains” was originally published in Lightning’d Press (Issue 8) in Spring of 2014, was reprinted on Aubade Rising in April, 2015, and has appeared here several times. It is also included in my chapbook, If Your Matter Could Reform.
O at the Edges 
its beautiful…
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Thank you!
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Brilliant!
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Thanks, Kenneth. I appreciate your support.
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Sets up a longing …
One of our campsites this summer was very near tracks that hummed several times during the night – startling the first night, comforting subsequent nights. Sound therapy!
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Trains always seem a bit wistful to me. We lived within earshot of trains for a good part of my childhood. Now, I seldom hear them.
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So evocative, Bob. A particular ex — who remains very present in memory — lives near the tracks here, and when I hear those lonesome whistles, I always feel a twinge of regret, longing, sadness. You’ve perfectly captured all of this and more.
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Thanks, Cate. I know a little about longing and regret…and sadness.
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Just ordered you Chapbook. Look forward to reading your poetry in paper.
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Thank you, James. Much appreciated!
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pulled in from the very first, perfect line! well done!
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This is an absolutely stunning piece. The imagery is so evocative, and pulls the reader through the landscape of this poem. I love the lines “In the marrowbone of night,
your song parts the fog.” The effect is almost physical for me.
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Thank you, Julia! That line, which appeared from nowhere, was the genesis of the poem.
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So evocative, beautiful.
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Thank you!
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Thank yoy.
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I feel like this needs a melody 🎶
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I hear a jazz trumpet…
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Always the (Trains) and their stations, REPRESENTED our feeling to whispering (sometimes screaming) to their steel and gravel, that we have a lot of stories and songs scratching the soul of us.
Its beautiful piece, I had been enjoyed read it
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I’m pleased it resonated for you. Thank you.
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Brilliant
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Thanks very much.
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