Those gloved hands, concealing tears of
The lady opposite. I ask her
For a moment of her time.
She looks through hair, through me.

I simply point –
To the passive, low-slung disc
Out there; a massive levitation
Breaking away from the burned horizon.
Its proximity and its haunting face.

It falls away, behind a tunnel.
‘A wink,’ I tell her. ‘A hint.
Nothing lasts so long
That the grandeur, out there,
Recalls it. The snow reveals the weeds.
The wind disrupts their seeds.
It’s all momentum, smooth and sure:
Less leads on to more – breeds more,
Breeds more.’

She doesn’t know I feel the same; that
The train and I are on our tracks,
Both inexorably drawn. And
If we alight at dawn,
We’ll see that the journey lacked
And open the doors – reborn.