Train from Philadelphia
I realize there is a backlog of writings (mostly poems) that I would like to share on this space. Somehow it doesn't seem right to just post a bunch in one really long entry. I'm not sure what i should do in the long run -- one Idea is to post one at a time when it strikes my fancy or something reminds me of one I wrote in the past.
Either way, I post one I wrote a few weeks ago:
Train from Philadelphia
Lights reflect in black like oil
from the midnight river bridge.
I wander straight and swiftly
crossing ties of wood and water
with cadence of a heart
that sounds like tumbling empty boxes.
In a shimmer window-film
I see my shadow-head,
with light around the fringes
and an empty faceless center
pierced by passing street lights.
Empty alleys, loading docks,
backs of buildings passing by.
Then I see sporadic suburbs -
half a roof,
an upstairs window,
a little bit of pattio
caught inside a floodlight.
The mostly hidden shards of home
are shards of destination -
focal points of wandering strangers
faceless like myself.
And yet it strangely is enough
to ride and ride and ride
from and to and in between
my many strands of home.
Either way, I post one I wrote a few weeks ago:
Train from Philadelphia
Lights reflect in black like oil
from the midnight river bridge.
I wander straight and swiftly
crossing ties of wood and water
with cadence of a heart
that sounds like tumbling empty boxes.
In a shimmer window-film
I see my shadow-head,
with light around the fringes
and an empty faceless center
pierced by passing street lights.
Empty alleys, loading docks,
backs of buildings passing by.
Then I see sporadic suburbs -
half a roof,
an upstairs window,
a little bit of pattio
caught inside a floodlight.
The mostly hidden shards of home
are shards of destination -
focal points of wandering strangers
faceless like myself.
And yet it strangely is enough
to ride and ride and ride
from and to and in between
my many strands of home.