in its allotted platform the train sits,

waits.

 

I stare out through hermetic glass.

 

The preparations are completed.

The guard looks to the front

past the long flanks of the thoroughbred

      steps back, the age - old green flag

      simply waved, and the peremptory

whistle blown.

 

Imperceptibly the train breathes in and moves.

Like a babe in arms I am cradled.

There's the world, locked out

from my seat

scales of past and future tipping

where I leave myself behind.

 

Now the train is breathing out

in a miracle of fusion

      all a - crackle and spark

      and all is a constant

dragging its tail clear of black walls

then low houses appear

like piano keys pressed

with gathering speed.

 

      Now an open sky a bleach of distance

      bruised by a passing train that

      implodes a feather's distance away

      and next, an anonymous station

      is swallowed bits at a time.

 

Now the driver knows all

senses the suction

lightly observing the esplanade of

dials, the grinning tell - all of

a screen

while his hand caresses the union

of power to track.

He watches the seas of power

part on each side

the waves cut back,

him as the skipper.

 

      Now behind him a languor of sleep

      or the twitching of phones,

      others thread the needle of the train

      with their bobbins of procession

      taking handfuls of support

      no moment wasted.

 

Now all is aloft on passive air

the train surpassing itself

under pressing bridges,

puffed up and proud

in splendid isolation,

      its nose a leopard

     hunting for a destination.

 

      Soon that sun will be the big signal

      lowering

      and we will enter the gates

      of a citadel on the

      introductory viaduct

      babes in arms.