The Night Trains
The kitchen sink after 10 pm
Is a quiet place where I can
Open the window to the gentle rain,
Listen to the approaching rumble
Of the train as it crosses the trestle
And slides into town blowing its whistle
Across the river and letting it echo
Down the dark streets.
The night breeze
Filled with cut grass,
And newly hatched leaves
Reaches for my face, caressing and soft.
The patter of rain sooths my soul.
I wash the dishes before bed.
I turn out the lights, and turn the locks.
I settle down, by degrees,
As the train’s slow thunder fades
Into the distance.
Where do the trains go,
One after the other,
Through the night?
©Diane E. Dockum
May 16, 2014