Invisible Train

Invisible Train

I never saw the iron horse

whose course stalked mine. I saw

lights flash red in other people’s eyes, heard 

a cold, shrill whistle in the words they spoke.

Wind delivered 

distant wails,

skeletal rattles like the clatter of tracks.

Tickles of smoke stung my nostrils, tremors 

rolled under my feet.  Once

at a crossing I heard

a whine, felt a knife slice air

into ripples across my face 

                             but saw  nothing there- 

the way sun’s light frosts

forest green, pine needles appear to shiver 

though the day is warm,

                             that sort of illusion- 

I thought if I stretched my hand into its path

it would pass right through me. I would feel 

the shake and sway

of boxcars all up my arm

but could draw back uninjured in its wake.

                             The real illusion.

At night by orange vapor lights

anonymous switchmen went about

their silent work, set wheels 

to rails that in time

would bear that thundering

force on our collision course.

I didn’t look. I didn’t see.