I was alone watching
a thousand trains leave
a thousand platforms behind.
Caught in a storm, whistling
a furious tune
in curious concert with my mind.
Leaves fell far from fall.
Grass lost its spring.
A parched, picket fence bawled
beside a rose-less bushes' sting.
Amidst all this
a rusted swing swayed
without cause
beside the murderous perch of
crows and their 'caws'
atop a gazebo
that someone stopped painting long ago.
Waiting for the return of a sun
that was somewhere beyond
too many grey skies to care.
And I remember just standing there
beside an empty railroad track
hoping that final sigh that escaped me
might bring you back.

August 98


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