There it is,
Ticking, temporarily settled;
Longer than the platform.
Beckoning, sighing, impatient
To be flying the rails again:
Locomotive to the right,
Atop the bridge:
The home of the power,
The place all motion begins
(The capital, driving, letter
In a back-to-front sentence).
The coaches line up,
And there is the calaboose.
Me? I am reflected in
Carriage windows;
Surprised because
I was beginning to think
I’d missed all of these chances,
Journeys, risks…
.. and reflections work two ways,
So, as she steams onwards, outwards,
Am I on the seat, leaving,
Looking at the platform?
Or on the platform,
Left behind, doubting
Again?