He Enters a Train Station on Saturday Morning

On a cool, cloudy, Saturday morning he entered the station, an hour before departure

Walls that smelled of time and bleachers made of pine witness to ages passed

Of soldiers leaving, lovers returning, and friends who fade into the fog like a mast

The station sits cold and idle, like a church whose congregation had long ago been raptured.

 

He boarded the train with his duffel, never looking back

Never having witnessed the goodness of the last

On the damp, dirty platform, the concrete heaved and cracked

Another member of the congregation, at 9:03, passed through the ether.