Dreams

The train door opens,
but before I decide to step on
I think of you.
Snowflakes litter the platform
and my beard is stiff from the cold.

Aboard the car
my forehead presses against the glass
as visions of rusty old diners and deserted grey barns
skate along the surface of my eyes.

In the seat next to me
sits the lonely ghost of memory –
a childhood dissolved and gone
who points at things and says, “that reminds me of…”

As we pass high into the mountains
tall firs tear at the blue halcyon above,
everything fading to black
as the train is swallowed by the hillside.

In the tunnel I shut my eyes,
and think I hear the chatter of birds
over the howl of the engine.

I wake up shivering in my bed,
reaching for the phone.

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