January 19, 2015 § Leave a comment
And like so many other poems this will also start with a train. The train from Athens to Munich, to Hamburg, to Amsterdam, the night train. Darling, don’t love part time, don’t love sentimentally, at the ticket counter. Love with a newspaper in the hand, love by writing letters. Listen! The voices are many, yet the night favours one that whispers in your dream. One that once was a body sitting in a train, leaving. And like so many other poems this will also end with a train, first on the track this morning, wiping out last night’s lines with fast light.