passing through

you're nearly asleep 

on the long silver train 

out of town.
your ticket is bent
in your hand.
you travel light.
the rails sing to you
a sweet lullaby.
they moan softly

over the curves
and straights
gaining speed,

then losing it.

you travel past

green pastures,

small towns,

the farms, schools

and churches,
past more stations
where you catch
a glimpse of faces

you'll never know, 

or see again. so much
of life is like that.

passing through.

passing through.