Sitting in the Journey
I was on the train and
intent on my journey
when he chose to sit
beside me.
Perhaps it was his intention;
perhaps it was my need.
I thought to casually
walk away to the club car
and get a stale ham sandwich
and maybe he did too
but the jostling to and fro
held us in place
and as we sat and stared
ahead into the direction
we were going without
seeing the rails ahead,
it was as if
we were suspended
in mid-journey.
The air grew still and
became stale and dead
and it imprisoned
our lungs so that we could
not utter words that floated
to our minds in the rhythm
of the turning wheels.
We traveled on separate
rails careening down
mountain sides of living
and across decaying bridges
of yearning;
But there was no crossing
and there was no joining
of those rails
and there was no conductor
to take the tickets
and so we sat
and sat.
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