Perhaps it is my position in time
that impells me to reach ahead or back
for that which is rightfully mine.
as if to catch-me-up, set me striaght
or backtrack in the steps of lost ways,
I mark my life by the traces of time.
The tracks I long to follow
begin with the whistle of a train a -coming
thunder in its passing
and echo its departure.
So not to end,
when trains in passing
fade from vision
but to encircle horizons
bend time spans
firmly rooting me when and where I no longer stand.
While trains must always
echo the moment of their passing
I now catch the moment of coming
that it never passes before me.