Iridescent swollen moon
wakes me with its glow
nesting on my pillows.
Before I rested my head,
the orb was hanging
low in the east sky.
Now he's starting his descent
to the west to set
until tomorrow's night.
Train's whistle gone
unheard had the moon not
bobbed his head in my window.
The metal wheels pound
against the cold steel rails
as it drones through the night.
Seven whistles blown
in the last five minutes
distorting the sympathetic silence.
Poem originally written in the Spring 2003
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