…t midnight
remember all is well
even if your eyes burn
from the scorching heat of the train’s speed
flying with fires that boil with the truth of every night,
and now you’re finally flying weightless
you could be a dove or a crow
your feathers tickling the tense tracks
and suddenly you’re floating —
your thoughts in a slow-motion freefall
carefully collected by westward winds
spanning miles across the lands
until it all turns into the whitest snow
individual memory flakes of you
falling on the heads of those
with feet still buried in the sand
with hearts tangled in their hands
those who refused to know
that it was time for you to go.
