.

The Train Ride

This train moves smoothly yet haltingly,
Carrying me the distance I require.
The blare of the whistle,
The shaking clicks of its structure,
And the rumble of the wheels
And profusely working engine
Do not disturb me.

In my hands,
I hold a book filled with passion and care.
It carries me away from the plastic seats,
Jolting me backwards and upwards
To another place with a silent engine.
I am caught by its truth,
Its personal connection
To my mind, heart, and soul;
It holds me in its warm, generous hands.

But by some cruel trick,
I am knocked out of the clouds
And find myself once again in my place,
Staring out the cool window.
I forget to breathe at first.
The countryside races by.
Nature in all her splendor writhes,
Grows to its heightened majesty,
Diminishes to its gut-wrenching poverty,
Glides to a peak of golden light,
And shutters back to a homely field.
I inhale deeply,
And I find I have been breathing it in
All along, though I never knew it.

A troublesome thought,
A crushing prospect,
An idea that trumps everything else
Floods my mind:
I have missed them both—
The music of the pages
And the rhythm of the earth—
While dallying with my pen on paper.

---

Step Back