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Poetry Junction

I am at the station
but there won't be a train coming.
Not yet.

I am looking into the distance
searching for any movement
in any direction
wishing for a train
wanting the journey
needing a destination.

I remember the blur of motion
the thrum of sound
the rush of wind
the satisfying halt.

Even before the train comes
you can imagine getting in
finding a seat
settling down
wond...

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