I continue to dream about trains
the chugging, the gentle moan and stop,
a sound cruising by in the night.
My mind wanders, over shadowy hills
past the pregnant moon and back,
into the still, starry night
that holds my memories -
as tight as I hold your hand.
Walking the open streets
tired and cold we
piece together little images
while we wait for trains,
a shooting star signals an approach,
begging us to dance in our dreams.