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Selection 11 of

Night Train

by John Kent
The whistle of the train
has a beckoning sound
when it comes
in the deeper dark,
as the dew clings
to the wet leaves
and the houses sleep
in a soundless night.
From a distance,
the rumble of the train
cannot be discerned,
just the whistle is heard,
calling through the night
a lonely reverie.
The town is small,
hardly noticed by the train
as it passes swiftly
with its sleeping cargo
to places unknown;
its leading light
picking up the station,
running on by
with barely a glance.
The outlying dusty road
races with the train
seeking recognition,
then quits in exhaustion.
I stir, gaze out the window
at the unseen track,
left with my dreams
as the whistle calls back.



Selection 11 of

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Copyright © 2000 by John Kent. All rights reserved.