Only the quill doth move in sound,
Bouncing and erring as if with no hand,
For amongst all, I be the farthest bound
And just now beyond the station stand.

Deafened by the litany o’ the tracks,
I hardly think anymore these days
That amidst all, thou shalt lose me
For I am merely a traveler’s phase

And gentle breaths cry aloud
That those who halt thee are the same,
The tired faces of salt, they remain,
The old, red station, unchanged.

Tell me, doth death find thee speaking
Of all the world left unseen,
Of each day lost ‘neath the feet
Of another ungrateful voyager?

Marco Delrio

Train Ride

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