Evening Poem, February 15, 2015

The storm has gone and all the day’s light

Every window and door is shuttered up tight

But around every edge seeps the cold of the night

I look out into darkness, the lights on the porches

seem hardened and rigid, like frozen torches.

Across the valley, a constant sight

the lights from the factory shine yellow and bright.

I wait for a sound  to give me some feel

that this scene’s not just a picture, that it’s living and real.

And then comes the far away sound of the train

the pounding, the echoes, whistle again.

Copyright 2015

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