Um, ya, trains again.



(sonnet #MMMMMMMCMXVI)


The train lo, half past midnight, whistles thence
In passing through dead silence none else hail,
Its rumble seeming muffled in betrayl,
As all lie wrapt in slumber for intents,
My sleepy notice--what is't?  Why's from hence
Sae poignant to hear that?  Am I in frail
Excuse long on the empty platform's stale
Reminder dreams have fled, where hope's pretense?
O wherefore does the train's voice 'non bestir
Is that...my soul?  like I aught hearken to
Its call as if I want a ticket--fer
Which landing is it hence?  Or does it cue
Cuz all's a journey--I've ne place here, poor
Though trying e'er to "fit in," enroute to You?

27Apr19b