As a kid
I really loved trains
Always thinking
Their tracks were unending

Like paths on rails
Made of iron
Under clouds which hid
Burning coals

Just to realize
Tangerine suns
And that golden dusk
Near our station

Must wait with scenes
Towards horizons
Where death
Is day being done –

Passing counties
Closing up shop
Almost ready for
Faith’s fading seasons

While harvests bloom
Hardened journeys
All innocence reaps
Growing old,

When country warmth
Feels its chill
Since summer’s grief
Gives no respite

Seeing autumn’s threat
Come in colors
Across wishful fields
Turning cold.

Those August nights
Still endure
By traveling lines
Through each memory,

Hearing engines blow
Sullen whistles
Calling souls back home
During sleep –

Sitting one more time
Near the back
Painted red from pain
Long behind me,

Soon leaving now
Even knowing
Locomotion
Never did last.

• J. Pigno