it was that particular sound and sensation

a metronomic regularity of a train passing over

the rail joints

that bespake the rhythmic tale of the greed of speed

connecting the body to the soul

the soul of railway travel.

      If that had been all

      all that I remember

no steam tumbling

spent fluff of force in motion

no shriek of whistles

from mouths of monsters,

no boys with notebooks

marooned on platforms

with their firebox fantasies,

no match of smouldering eye to bony grip

guiding the beast,

      that would have been enough

      for the coupling of youth and age

      an epitaph,

      and heritage.