Stepping out my front door
I am already at the tracks.
Which side depends
on where you're standing.
The train roars out of nothing
faces turned passively to the glass
to the falling darkness
the speeding trees.
I wonder about them
commuting home
to safe warm dens
dinner
suburban sprawl.
They wonder about the lives led
in the spaces
that are merely their in betweens
and the lights that shine
long after they are dreaming.
Briefly we are a part
of each others scenery.
May 1, 2011.
