You had dreams
but they slipped away
so quietly
that we failed to notice
until we had stacked
them up in boxes.
Standing now,
years later,
along these tracks,
sun beaming down,
through the thin, blue air,
black birds overhead,
two of them,
slicing south
through the
north wind,
then landing on the
flashing crossing light
to pick and clean each other's
wings.
The train pulls in.
The birds scatter.
I board for you
to take us further.
Sitting with my back facing front,
wheels churning,
rust stained snow,
past lakes outlined in white,
past abandoned houses,
and houses that should be,
and all New England's playgrounds
buried in the ancient ice;
where have you been,
where once was your home?
What am I looking for?
Where you have been,
where once was your home.
Always following your tracks,
that is all I ever did,
Waiting for our eyes
to whisper to me:
where you have gone,
where once was our home?
A long time ago
we,
the deepest sleep beneath,
this always onwards,
though we only ever
sit facing backwards,
always will be my way home,
you.
~Burlington, VM to Amherst, MA - 2/96
