Depot

i filled my pockets with silt

to root me; coal black mud

to suit me and my

traipsing through

raindrops, splashing

in little red galoshes. I can

still remember those

4 am whistles blowing

as the train billowed

through town like ghosts

of iron and steel,

clickity-clack

across tracks as I

lied awake in the sill

of windows;

I can tell by

your eyes its been

too many years searching

for grace, nights spent

sleeping, loosening the grip

of lullabies in bottles or

places where love

seems so close you can

almost taste its lips, but

in that storm and that sky,

an indigo simmering of last

lights, last chances, you can feel

the wind stilling, the last call is

coming. So like lyrics, like trains

whistling ditties,

so long darlin',

time to move on;

I won't ever leave you

again behind me more than

the length of my hands.

Reviews

[LJW]

"an indigo simmering of last lights, last chances..."

One of the best lines I have read in a poem, ever.