Lying in bed

At night or in the morning

Looking up through the rectangular window

At blinking lights or fleeting white clouds

A perfect still life

 

First an underground murmur

The floor rattles, the window whistles

Then the roars, the thunderous cascades

Interrupted like clock work

clickety clickety clickety

Then the angry crescendo surely

Announces ominous devastation

But no

 

Even a wandering storm dies

 

It is like this several times night and day

A train, either coming or going,

Disrupts life

Every time leaving me with

The sound of my thumping heart