train moving north

sitting in a carriage

of a train moving north

is to fixate on thoughts

savaged with regret

and tiredness. 

each station

we pull into, we are forced

to recollect, move on again,

all attains a pitch

which mounts

almost to violence.

troubles, guilt, pains,

old faces wax and wane,

until we reach our station.

we poor travellers alight

and wait at barriers until

the clack-clack of ebbing life

echoes into silence.

a cold wind cuts our faces

in the sudden dark.

venus and jupiter,

forgotten, gleer 

on the horizon:

we are in a heavy place

of cruelty and death.

the gates open:

but just when

my soul is exiting,

a baby's perfect face

appears before me:

his mother him watching,

the child, asleep, eyelids pulsing,

urged gently over the crossing.