A train is coming.

Still far off, the whistle blows.

An idea is close,

Barely audible,

But surely, it is coming.

 

It will cross just

Over that hill.

Cross between the night

And day

 

While the half moon

Is directly overhead

And smiling as it gazes down

On the shining pond

 

Under the bridge.

A train of thought is coming,

Surely coming and soon.

Can’t you hear it echo

 

Through the valleys

Of your mind?

I hear that far off sound

Calling from a mile away,

 

And the power of its engine

Surely takes my breath away.

It pulls all my attention

And I stop to listen

 

And estimate the distance

And the time

Before it’s here

I close my eyes and wonder

 

Where it came from,

Where it goes

I wait until it reaches me

And I wait until it goes.

 

 

 

By Diane E. Dockum

©April 16, 2016