by underswansea

Orion beside a fir

there s a sound a train makes
it s not the clop clop sound
or the diesel engine chugging
or the horn warning deer.

it s a hum
below it all
hiding out
gathering steam
or running slow.

it could be the tracks
i like to think
or the air passing
coal cars and caboose.

when the train stopped
i would crawl
through a culvert
under the tracks
to a waveless lake
still as a painting.

we lived beside the tracks
it was the hum
that put me to sleep
listening deep
until the night
took over.

the sound follows me around
it shows up unexpectedly
in the bush
watching stars
or in the hospital waiting
thinking of loss.

sometimes i chalk it up
to the ringing in my ears
or the ventilation.

i m not sure what to make
of the sound
showing up
during good and bad.

the trains rattle
on shaky tracks
beside the lake
delivering coal
to the pacific.

no matter
i d miss it
if it was gone.