Night train to Budapest


When the trees no longer astound

And the gravel builds,

The urban light 

grows false, too white.

I remember that train journey

We were on freedoms' back

chasing through the night

Tracks of bone and steel

The sound of beating moth wings.

Lured by the castles of Prague,

the arches of Budapest,

Lit up like terrible ghosts.

As we raced through valleys of sabotage and treason

the fields lay their hands down at our feet

My forehead fused to the calm window

The view obstructed only

by my own flashing reflection,

Hooded and mad

with a belly full of frantic sparrows.

The tinkling of a distant piano.

Returning, I feel as soft as a petal.

My handful of feathers

swollen juniper berries.

A smiling tear.

The End

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