The ground rumbles
under the weight of steel,
churning relentlessly
onward through the pitch
as the lone whistle
trails into the night,
echoing loneliness.

I lie awake contemplating
how the conductor looks crying
so early in the morning,
twisting down the tracks
keeping insomniacs awake
with his constant
rolling thunder.

And I bet with myself
the rushing wind
cools his tears.