Marjorie A. Buettner...


winter's new moon

In the middle of the night a train winds its way through the edge of the town, whistle wailing. The repetitive clang of metal and iron forced by the speed and friction of wheels shuddering over railroad tracks seems to go on forever, hovering like a lost dream filled with captive dream-ghosts forced to haunt a life unwanted. How these ghosts line my dreams at night, reluctantly repentant, wanting a forgiveness that is not in my power to give, while this midnight train caught between hours, between waking and sleep, seems to go on forever--the roll of motion, like time itself, growing faint with distance and I am carried away, never reaching that place its bound for but always, always bound to go...

winter's new moon-- feeling time pass me by

WHCHaibun 2004-02-17

Copyright Marjorie Buettner, 2004