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.