I was on a train from
Paris to Amsterdam
and with an empty page
a sad smile and a pen
she was looking out
the window across
the apple green fields and
into the valleys of cobbled
villages and ****** churches
and as the dead air of Paris
was leaving my mind
I began to read the reflection
of questions in her eyes
I wanted to tell her what
she already knew
that the answers are in
the rhythm of the rails
and to only underline
the words that matter ...
Clay.M