Quiet Nights
*
This I am, sitting by the
Moving train.
Here I am, next to aged
Metal tracks, listening to
The cuckoo of the flying
Train, the train that leaves
Behind grey smoke trails like
The rabbit leaves behind its trails
In the woodened forests.

It is suddenly a grey dark morning day
In midwinter, but now it is
A warm dark night leveeing the
Tracks with vibrating gravel
As the train flies in front of the
Eyes and I listen quietly to the choo-choo’s,
Tucked inside my bed sheets
Half a kilometer away.

Big round opened eyes gleam
Brightly in that absolute darkness,
Until the train lights **** it in.
And suddenly they are dark, and
The room is lighted through the
Large window and its transparent
Plastic curtain.
There I am, half a kilometer
Away, sitting by the immobile gravel
Looking at the rear metals
Of a moving train that leaves
Behind large puffs of intoxicating
Smoke that disintegrates into
Large clouds of fog fallen onto the
Mobile homes.