Selection 11 of
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Night Train
by John Kent
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The whistle of the train has a beckoning sound when it comes in the deeper dark, as the dew clings to the wet leaves and the houses sleep in a soundless night. From a distance, the rumble of the train cannot be discerned, just the whistle is heard, calling through the night a lonely reverie. The town is small, hardly noticed by the train as it passes swiftly with its sleeping cargo to places unknown; its leading light picking up the station, running on by with barely a glance. The outlying dusty road races with the train seeking recognition, then quits in exhaustion. I stir, gaze out the window at the unseen track, left with my dreams as the whistle calls back. |
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