The Mystery Train: A Poem

The sunset’s last rosy fingerprints have disappeared from the heavens
And the moon hovers in the air, an unblinking eye
Pale silver clouds hang limply above the roofs of little houses
Clouds spun from some celestial spinning wheel
A dark tsunami of silence comes crashing over the earth
Yet the trees grow restless and arch
Their creaking spines

Through the silence come the faint, wheezing gasps
The fast, tinny breaths—the muffled roar
Of some ghostly locomotive, gliding through the night like
A creature in the darkest depths of the ocean
I can hear it stumble over the terrain on its screeching wheels
As I listen to its heavy, metallic respiration from
Beyond my bedroom window—while I lie in bed tasting
The first glowing dew drops of dreams
I wonder where this mystery train is heading
I ask myself where it has come from
Perhaps from some fantastic land with winged beasts
And whispering ghouls, towering cities
Sculpted from ice or rock or consisting
Of smoking factories, clanking machines that cough and spit
Cities filled with merchant spirits and
Cantankerous sorcerers and scholarly wolves
That wear spectacles and have tea at midday
I imagine it’s heading to a place even more extraordinary
Woven from the sparkling fabrics of my dreams
I lie in bed listening to its ethereal whistle, its bellowing horn
Marveling at the wonders of this
Mystery train