Waiting for the Train

I sit.
The thrum thrum of the tracks travel
through my core…
from the cold rolled steel on
a winter morn.

It’s coming; my train.

The vibrations are distant as
my tensions  strain
against the boundaries set long
ago in a land made of
flimsy paper mache.

It’s imminently imminent
that time ticks ticks
on the whim of
a pendulum  made of wooden sticks

Light it low,
and watch it burn bright.
And by all the laws
of physics time ticks
faster,
and faster as it burns
the length of its swing.

The whistle blows.

As I continue to

sit

sit

sit.

On the track, on this

cold

cold

morn.

For my train to come.