Last Night
Last night
the breeze through my bedroom window
was cool and carried distant trainsong,
and the scent of green leaves bruised by frost.
The sheets were crisp against my neck.
I studied moonshadows on the wall.
I heard a bobwhite
cry out in the autumn dark...
if that moment could have been held
it would be a gem,
a lense.
Soon I dreamed of the black lip of a midnight tide
moonlit and creeping inland;
a scent of wet algae and
stars....
the metallic taste of mystery.
I dreamed of a moonlit glass train,
the transparent cars roaring past me
just as the first snow of the season began.
There was no smoke,
no whistle of heat and steam,
only the smile of the waving engineer
and the gleam of clear wheels on steel.
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