Journey

We’ll meet that coming train to ride

And if we wait

Together on the wood-hard bench

We’ll sit both on one side.

Then in the crowded places,

Push together there to find a seat,

And hear the voices and the steam

Mingle in one constant stream

Of tired whispers, tired faces.

Dim light, yellow, narrow, low,

Reflected hands on blackened glass.

Swing back and back around the turn.

Peering into empty night

We see our faces, eyeless shadows.

Hours wander, backward, down the aisle,

Hanging on each seat to balance,

Step and stumble, while we watch

Unseeing, numb, but feeling every mile.

Read by Charis: