I'm used to the trains in our backyard,
the baritone doesn't scare or startle me anymore;
the trains run a path of security and devotion,
an infallible voice of thunder -
a merciful god, a reaffirming decree,
not an angry strike against my soul.
I imagine the voice tucking me in,
my head laying on the brittle hay in the box car,
as I dream of fluffy clouds and cool creeks.
People always complain of trains until
they've been around them long enough.
Then, the freight cars become a comfort.
A necessity to sleep.
I don't dream of earthquakes or
violent ruptures in the universe.
I don't even dream of the dizziness of life,
and what would happen if I stopped spinning.
I just dream.
Sometimes, of you.
Sometimes, of the place we'll eventually end up.
And I hear the distant rumble,
making its way nearer...
I hear, and I dream, and I ride
somewhere on the wisp of a dream.
Written while listening to: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q5yeqPj4KI