A Train Whistle Far Away

It is winter and you are gone west
Where foothills crumble into desert
Resting your head against the black,
I imagine, the cool bus window.

The sun has fallen behind mountains
And left the night stained blue as the sea.
You hear a train whistle far away,
You tell me, doppler into memory.

The trains must flow like water, you say,
Seen from above, through the deep rock cuts.
Those are the channels where the unknown
Moves, the dark currents of continents.

Should I envy you the desert or
The distance, here in the rain-shadowed east?

About John MacKenzie

I'll mumble for ya. Poetry, plus most things quantifiable: science, neuroscience, memory, epistemology, baseball. And so on.
This entry was posted in New poems, Poem tweets, Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Mumble back at me

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.