Train shakes my bed.
Bundled up
Almost cold
Rolling like I was
Traveling through Quebec
Like in my dream
My reoccurring dream
That takes me past your door
Too late to pull the chord
It keeps tumbling along
It keeps tumbling along
Keeps me swinging side to side.
Do you remember the hammock
White canvas in the backyard
Hung between 2 ash trees?
Do you remember why
They took it down
Or even where it hung?
I just remember it was.
It's where I learned
To be scared of being dumped
In the swinging of gentleness
Billowing white smoke blows
In tall volcanic streams
Across the road behind the church
In an alleyway
One after another.
At first I thought explosion,
But there was no noise
As it puffed slowly on
Finally I saw the orange engine
Smokestack spewing the white cloud
A small train
No more than twelve fuel cars
Passing through our town AT 2;
how small
How steady
The smoke trail contained
Who are the little round black birds
With white bellies?
Hopping on crusted snow in dimming sunlight
How many pounds of seeds do they need to keep their bodies from freezing?
Where is the train going
West of here
Like the little engine that could
I've never seen her before
Never watched that steady
Simpler rumble
Just a quick line of fuel
Steaming smoke in cold
Silent motion.
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